


Touched Your Lips

by Ydream08



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Adoption, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dragon Pox, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-07-06 01:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 74,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15875781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ydream08/pseuds/Ydream08
Summary: *Abandoned* When she traveled back to 70s in one of her shifts, Hermione's Healer career ended. Now, she has to take the right steps to prevent both wizarding wars. She meets people from her own time, too, for example a young Sirius Black. His father, Orion, is a person she never dreamt of coming across. Come across they did, but Orion Black was more affected by their interaction than her.





	1. Chapter 1

"Well, then." Hermione huffed and walked around the counter of the potions storage. She was in a bit of hurry. She couldn't spend time waiting around for somebody to attend her, and apparently, noon time attendee of the storage had gone to the loo or something.

Her Healer had rushed her to get some potions and salves for Dragon Pox. Since the incident of the disease had dropped significantly in England twenty or so years ago, rarely seen nowadays actually, the cure was not regular therapy, ending up in the dusty shelves of the potions storage.

Healer Robinson had shouted something about incompetent potioneers and internees, and assigned the task of acquiring the cure to her. Hermione Granger was a bright and exceptional internee in the St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, so no wonder her Healer had trusted her.

There was also the minor set back of having no staff in the hospital. Hermione cursed upon remembering why there was nearly no one in the whole goddamn hospital: The Quidditch World Cup.

All the wizards and witches had packed up and went to Denmark, host of the 2006 Quidditch World Cup. Even Harry, who had become the Head of Auror Department only this year went to the game. There was a rumor that he had convinced Kingsley to pay tickets for the whole department. Something about Aurors being needed just in case.

Hermione grumbled. She really didn't share Harry and Ron's enthusiasm for the sport. It was alright to watch when Ron played with how he was the current Keeper of Chudley Cannons, but even then, Hermione didn't go out of her way to attend all of his games. Just the ones which they played in homeland.

She and Ron hadn't worked out. The kiss in the Chamber was great. Hermione had had the highest hope that for once something would work out just fine for her. It was that their losses were too much for the sorrow to clear out from the coast of their budding relationship. It was Fred, then Molly for Ron. And it was her parents for Hermione. They hadn't been able to be there for each other in those days.

She had had to leave alone to search for her parents when Fred's loss wasn't yet embraced, Ron being unable to leave with her while he consoled his mother on top of dealing with his brother's death himself. Hermione would have waited out, been there for Ron but an intel had alerted the Ministry. Hermione had immediately gone to Australia to confirm that, yes, those two married couple who died in a traffic accident the other day, were indeed her parents. When she had finally returned one month later, she had learned from Harry that Molly had passed away from heart attack in her absence. Just like that.

Ron had accepted her condolences, and hugged her tightly but it was a comfort received from a friend. They had both known it once they had broken apart from the embrace.

That's how Hermione had never had a proper relationship. She had straight gone to medical training after taking her NEWTs and as such, she rarely gave other guys a chance even if she had spare time from her education and career.

Well, she was content how her career had turned out. She was currently picking out potions from an old storage on her own.  _Great_. She could bet that Healer Robinson was cursing her slow skills.

Hermione shook her head while she read label after label, not finding the right potion. Her furrows burrowed further with each label she passed which was either faded or unintelligible. She stomped her feet. Where was she supposed to find the damn potions!

Accio.

She needn't vocalize the spell as her magical core decided to act on its own, but thankfully she was concentrated on that particular potion. She was still slightly offended that her magic occasionally took the initiative - a habit left from the war-, when a rumble from the shelves alerted her that something was definitely wrong.

Hermione comically turned her head just to her right and watched in slow motion how the cabinet there shook, vials dropping one after another. The glass breaking, mixed potions hissing and exploding, shelves dislocating echoed in her ears as she screamed and instinctively took cover, but she wasn't fast enough. Vials dropped on her, soaking her skin and clothes, shards of glass piercing her skin upon impact even. Hermione flicked her wand -anything to stop this mess, and that's when a particular vial rushed toward her from the back of a shelf, hidden behind many other potions which now formed a pool on the ground.

Hermione grabbed it without thinking, and realizing that everything had stopped, she took a breath in relief.

She tentatively raised the potion and read its label: Dragon Pox, IV, 1994.

Walking to a safe distance from the cabinet, she cursed how troublesome Accio had turned out. That was why potioneers never used the spell, apparently. Why need it, if you know how your potions are stocked?

Shrugging the annoyance, she performed spells on the vial to check whether the stasis charms on the potion were intact. As the label read, the potion was brewed back in 1994. It would be unfortunate to apply it if it had gone awful.

Happy that the potion was still good to go, Hermione pocketed it and prayed on her way out that Healer Robinson would forgive her delay.

A sudden dizziness caused her to stumble, but Hermione had just made it to the door. Steadying herself while holding on the door knob, she moaned because her head throbbed like hell. Her head felt heavy and her footing was so insecure that for a moment, she thought she was going to pass out.

Focusing her eyes, she realized the potions dripping from her white coat. She could see that those in contact with her skin had been absorbed partially, giving off a faint glow on her bare thighs and calves. She shouldn't have worn this dress suit today. Thin stockings weren't best suited to protect.

Hermione was just about to panic, forget about Robinson wanting the potion and run to get help from someone, anyone, as she had felt close to blacking out; but when she opened the door and stepped outside, she felt perfectly fine.

She could have sworn that she would have passed out, falling as a heap on the ground of the storage, only moments ago. Right now, though? Hermione felt as though she had woken up from a well rested sleep.

Well rested sleep or not, Hermione was definitely dreaming the people -healers, patients and nurses- who rushed about. Were people back? Why were they back? What had happened to the Quidditch World Cup?

Feeling the weight of the potion in her pocket, Hermione decided to forget about this little detail that knubbed her mind. The potion storage was near the Emergency, it was more likely that a catastrophe had occurred and staff was called back on duty. Really, it could be nothing.

"Crap," she whispered. What was Robinson going to do to her? She was late. So late. Maybe only yell at her? Or fire her? "Crap, crap, crap."

Hermione elbowed her way as she hurried to the stairs. Third floor, fifth door to the right. Patient was on the verge of death. Last stage of Dragon Pox. She was an old witch with no one to care for her while she had dismissed the symptoms as mere cold. The green sheen to her skin hadn't bothered her enough to get her to go the hospital either.

Hermione hadn't had the chance to ask why the witch had bothered to come at all. Probably some kind of fear of hospitals not unlike of Muggles had gotten her waiting patiently on her deathbed.

Hermione wanted to ask if she made it before the witch was dead. She was  _really_ late.

With that notion in mind, Hermione Granger barged into the room without knocking, grabbed the injector, prepared it and applied to the patient just like Healer Robinson would approve. He would have let her too. She had done this numerous times next to him.

It was perhaps the adrenaline, the fear or the rush that made her miss that, no, the patient was not an old witch. No, there was no Healer about the room, not just Robinson. No, this was definitely not her patient.

Hermione's ears had muted all the sound, only a high pitch echoed as she tried desperately to get her mind to work.

She had been working forty two hours straight, there had been a catastrophe that was brought to the Emergency at the first hours of her shift - people didn't just Disapparate to the Quidditch Cup soundlessly, some  _arguments_  were unavoidable- and she had had barely time to eat while Robinson had assigned her half of the hospital's usual routine. She had been one of the few who hadn't left for the Cup.

None were adequate excuses to apply a dangerous potion to a healthy person- relatively healthy at least. Not someone that Dragon Pox cure would aid. Someone who was not her patient.

"What have you done?"

Hermione slowly raised her gaze to meet with a young man. His long platinum hair was a give away, but she refused that Lucius Malfoy stood before her. He had died. Last year. In Azkaban.

"You are not one of father's healers." Lucius Malfoy narrowed his eyes. " _What_  have you done?"

"You… I…" Hermione blinked. Under his accusatory glare, Hermione's thought that she was talking with  _Lucius Malfoy_  vanished. As a Healer, internee or not, she had done a horrible thing. What was she supposed to say? 'I mistook the patients and gave him a wrong injection'?

How bloody blind was Hermione? A Dragon Pox patient would have blistered green skin, for Godric's sake! She could have mistaken any other patient, but such a give-away?

Hermione's eyes glanced at the soundless Malfoy Sr. lying in his bed, and at that moment she knew that she hadn't been mistaken. At least she had given the injection to the right type of patient.

On the arm that Hermione had done the injection, Malfoy Sr.'s green skin at the tip of his fingers had already turned to the pale white of his grandson Draco's.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course, she deflected Malfoy's spell with a quick Protego and cast a disarming spell within a heartbeat. Roughly eight years might have passed since the war but her fighting reflexes were not by far rusty.

That didn't mean that a well-aimed Diffindo at the throat could solve her problems. That used to be the case back in the war, but now? Hermione Granger would have one huge mess if Lucius Malfoy were to die at a young age when clearly Draco was not even born.

So she did the first thing that came to her mind, she glanced between the stirring father and the enraged son, clasped the said-son's wand in her hand tighter -she had disarmed him, remember?-, and spun on her heel.

The crack of her Disapparition was deafeningly loud to those left behind but all she cared at that moment was, get away from there, NOW!

When Hermione had had the chance to collect herself which meant two Butterbears, six shots of Firewhiskey later in a private boot back at a dingy Knockturn Alley pub, she decided that she didn't give a flying fuck!

It was all a nightmare anyway! Hell with it! She somehow found herself in 1972? Sure, why not? This was the magical world! In the GODDAMN magical world, purity wars could happen, a giant-ass snake could be hidden in a school and, of course, torturing curses could be taught in the curriculum. These were the mildest examples Hermione could think of and laugh her arse about at the moment.

She had lost it, she knew.

It wasn't surprising, thus, how she went over the whole shock-denial-hysteria process once again the next evening when she woke up to a throbbing head and read from the Daily Prophet the date as February 13th, 1972.

The creak of the bed as she sunk down to it, her eyes unseeingly staring at the blotched wall of the tiny room -where was she anyway?- and the merry bustling of the city did little to ease her hyperventilation.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

What was she supposed to do?

All the time travel mess her mind shouted herself to take seriously set aside, she evaluated what she had with herself.

She had her wand -consider the day saved, yay- and surprisingly an additional wand, which wore a serpent holder with shiny emeralds as its eyes. Recalling how she had disarmed Lucius Malfoy, it explained one mystery her sore head would have had harder time to explain. Then she noted down her clothes. She wore jeans and a simple shirt underneath her Internee Robes. She had her phone at the back pocket of her jeans and a tablet of painkillers as it was that time of the month. Used to be, anyway. She was penniless, now that she thought about it. No British pounds or galleons of the wizarding world.

She had nowhere to go, no way of going back -forward- in time and she had no means to survive in this era.

How had this happened to begin with?

Well, Hermione did not have chance to ponder over it and juice her brain for answers because when she went downstairs -her grumbling stomach ordered her to follow the incredible smell wafting from there- the matron of the inn (the pub had rooms upstairs much like in the Leaky Cauldron) demanded her to pay for the drinks. And for the room. Hermione had nothing to pay her with, so after apologizing countless times and begging to work to pay back, she finally came to an arrangement with the matron.

That's how the following two days passed without her giving any thought to the fact that she lived in the 70s.

It occurred to her occasionally, especially when she came across weirdly moustached wizards with extravagantly posh witches in their arms. No witch would wear such robes back in her time. Vibrant colours and long pointy hats that would have made Albus Dumbledore jealous definitely belonged with this era.

But Hermione ignored them. She took orders instead. Passed the drinks and meals, scrubbed the tables, helped with the morning deliveries and the night tidying. With her wand sharp and ready, she broke fights when it came down to it and the matron paid her even the better.

After a short chat with the matron which guaranteed Hermione that she could stay in the room upstairs in exchange for continuing the job, Hermione was forced to face with the fact that, yes, she was in the 70s and, no, she did not belong here.

Her breath caught in her throat, her hands shaking with fright, Hermione stood perplexed at the sight of Lucius Malfoy smirking at her. He had caught a hold of her at the back entrance of the pub. How he had known to find her there, she had no clue.

"So I've found you." He took a step closer to her, angling his chin just so that he could look down at her. Wanker. "I presume you have something…something very precious that belongs to me?"

Hermione's narrowed eyes swept over him -she couldn't help it, his mannerism brought out her rage- and she mimicked his superior look. She could raise her chin higher than him- even though he was much taller. Damn him.

"You're mistaken." That was her know-it-all voice. Even she could pinpoint it sometimes, with how often she had heard from Ronald. "It's not customary to return the property if taken magically."

She was partly true. The wand's ownership was with her at the moment, which made it one hundred percent hers.

Malfoy tutted. "Legitimize thievery, do you not?"

"What do you want?" Hermione shot his way. Her patience had run thin. She wanted him gone from her face. She probably did not have a return ticket home so at the very back of her mind she had contemplated that she might as well live her remaining years invisible. BUT associating with Lucius Malfoy would definitely mess that option up.

"Ah, so you'll oblige now?" The quirk of his eyebrows, the momentary movement of the two blond lines, was identical to that of Draco. Hermione felt her stomach drop. One wrong step and her future, the future she knew, would disappear. Not that she would dearly miss if Draco disappeared. Her childhood could have been much better without him.

"My wand, Miss."

He extended his hand, palm up, and flexed his fingers. He didn't want to shake hands.

"You leave, and won't bother me again."

He huffed but didn't roll his eyes. It would have been uncouth.

Hermione waited until he gave the slightest of nods. She drew his wand out and firmly put it to his waiting, leather-covered hand.

"We will." Malfoy smirked, and before Hermione could decipher what the hell the maniac had muttered, he had grabbed her arm and she felt the twist of Side-Disapparition.

"Malfoy!"

Hermione freed her arm and put a safe distance between the two of them, her own wand already raised. She quickly took a look around to see that she was in a dimly lit room, extravagantly decorated as much as she could see, and somehow quite familiar… Oh, it was his drawing room.

Hermione's breath hitched but she distracted herself from the fact that she was entrapped in the Malfoy Manor, and concentrated more on the wand in her hand, ready to blast off Malfoy's precious bits, if not his whole head.

"I left. You left." He shrugged and his trademark platinum blonde hair shifted with the motion. How Hermione wanted to pull every damn strand from his scalp, she could not express!

Word play, the smart arse had done. What did he think of himself? That his virtue was intact thanks to his childish trick?

"And I won't bother you, thank Salazar."

"Lucius," came a commanding voice and only then did Hermione realize that the two of them were no longer alone. "Enough."

Hermione shifted her wand at the stranger, but changed her mind to point it back at Lucius Malfoy. Her eyes darting between the two, she decided that aiming in between would be the safest choice.

Safe her arse.

Her panicking mind was late to register that Lucius Disapparated very much like how he promised. Her eyes opened a fraction at his soundless departure. That must have required some steady state of mind. Exactly what she lacked at the moment.

"I'd like to-"

Yes, her wand shot up to the source of the voice without a blink.

Low laughter came from the man who stood in front of her. If he had not coughed by the end, his lively green eyes would not give-away his age. He was tall. Looked awfully like Lucius Malfoy in stature but slimmer than him. It was a sickly thinness, actually. But considering that he was coloured like the other Malfoy men Hermione had previously met -pale like the snow- he looked healthy nonetheless. He had his platinum blonde hair cut short, much like Draco. The moustache helped her differentiate him. And the wrinkles on his forehead. Both were absent in Draco.

Also the eyes. Draco's gray eyes had been a Black trait.

Malfoy Sr. cleared his throat and tried again. "I'd like to thank you. Yes, be surprised, it's not often that I feel grateful. Thank you, Miss- I'm afraid, I haven't yet introduced myself. I'm Abraxas Malfoy, and you are?"

"Hermione Granger."

It had slipped. With how surprised she was, and scared, adrenalin fogging her mind, she had answered the question. It was what she always did: answer when asked.

Hermione saw the man visibly flinch and noticed his slackened jaw. Her wand lighted with the soft blue of Diffindo. Basic spell everybody knew, so she knew Malfoy Sr. recognized it, and it was a spell very useful when aimed well.

"Miss Granger, I am truly grateful." Now, it looked as though it pained him to say the words. A moment ago he was just devoid of arrogance, now he tried to refrain from scrunching his nose at her. Fan-bloody-tastic. "You saved my life."

Hermione gulped. She remembered well how she had applied a Dragon-pox cure to the man, who had been very sick with the said-disease. He would have died, both of them knew. And he knew very well that the disease had no cure.

"Anytime," Hermione said offhandedly as she speculated how the heck was she going to get out of here. There was a fireplace across there, she hadn't had time to remember where-

"Just this time was more than enough."

They stared at each other until Hermione couldn't help herself and darted a glance at the fireplace. She really had to get out of here.

"Your unfortunate breeding, aside, I wish to repay my debt."

Oh, so this was it? Hermione had read about life-debts. It was a magical bond constructed upon an act of selfless help. At the second thought, it didn't have to be selfless, wizards had used this bond and saved people shrewdly because of it throughout history, but the end point of it was that the saved party of the bond would be in debt to the saviour till their last breath. The bond would refrain any act that would harm the debt-holder, and the debted would be compelled to repay his debt until the debt-holder is satisfied.

It was a tricky bit of magic. Bonds weren't usually this troublesome since they were mostly familial or love-bind.

Hermione could foresee the consequences of such a bond to one Malfoy Sr..

This was the height of the First Wizarding War, correct? Harry was born in July 31, 1980. Roughly ten years remained for Voldemort's reign. With how much of a close supporter the Malfoys had been, it would be troublesome for the head of the family to be indebted magically to a person.

To a Muggle-born, no less.

"Repay the debt?" Hermione wanted to laugh but her face contorted to disgust instead. These people supported Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy and his family wished her kind to be purged. School bullying of Draco had been nothing -NOTHING- compared to the lives that were lost in the wars. They had not cared. Draco was an idiot, but Lucius? A grown man, a father no less, had not cared. Would his father be better than him?

Hermione doubted it.

Voldemort was very much alive and corporal in these days. It was his first-rise to power, and he had the Malfoys with him. That was a fact, and Hermione knew one thing for sure: Lucius had not decided on this on his own while he was twenty something and his father -the Lord Malfoy- was very much alive.

This man, the one standing in front of her, was one of the first people to agree with Tom Riddle. Aid him and raise him to where he dreamt to deserve. No one was a leader without those who followed him. Malfoy Sr. had chosen Riddle as a leader and abided him. No pressure. No nothing. He could have ignored the young Riddle and minded his own business. Why support a penniless, orphan Half-Blood, right? All the while you were the richest and most powerful man among the upper circles. It was very well Malfoy Sr.'s own choice.

And right now he sputtered bullshite about wanting to repay his debt to her? Did he think it would be easy as handing over some money?

"If you want to repay the debt, or whatever bullshite, you better show me that you cease your support of Voldemort- stand against him and, for once, do the right thing, and help the Muggle-borns. No killing, torturing, no war. Whatever problem you have with Muggles, it shouldn't be worth a masacre, hear me? Can you do that? Honestly, can you?"

Hermione wasn't aware how tightly she held her wand, how her hand shook or how her body was set aflame. She knew that her request was in vain, but she had had never the chance to say these things to Draco. The day of her torture she had seen that he was scared, shocked and disgusted while watching her. She knew now and back then that he hadn't wanted any of this. But he had watched. Stood there and watched. Hermione had always wanted to yell at him that standing up to Lord Voldemort was the game! It was not easy, not like standing by and staying quiet. It was damn difficult, but if he had done it… if Hermione had seen with her eyes that Draco had defied him…

That was the difference between Draco and Hermione. He had changed his mind, that had been apparent. But when it came down to it, the final step, Draco had refrained.

And that step happened to be what Hermione valued the most- the reason why she was sorted to Gryffindor.

She had been lost in her screaming thoughts, unseeing as the man clenched and unclenched his fist, thinking with his brows creased.

"I can," he whispered. Hermione was sucked out from her thoughts. Their eyes were locked. "And I will. Consider it done, Miss Granger."


	3. Chapter 3

What Malfoy Sr. said made Hermione stop at her thoughts.  _He would stand against Voldemort?_ She felt as though everything gave away. Her head was pounding.

It was not possible. Her request was simply not possible. If she knew the Malfoys at all -and she was positive they had long passed the bar of acquaintances after her visit in their drawing room-, she could swear that they would not stand in the way of Voldemort, let alone acting against him.

Malfoy Sr. said otherwise, though.

Hermione panicked all of a sudden, Malfoy Sr.'s words playing in her mind. She was aware that her existence in the 70s had already altered a lot more than she would have liked, Malfoy Sr. surviving the Dragon Pox being one of them, but Hermione couldn't measure what would happen if, at the off-chance, the Malfoys sided with Dumbledore -the Light Side, at least.

Would it be a good thing? The wars could be avoided… but then again it could lead to a larger-scaled war, giving both sides enough resources to carry on. The Malfoys weren't the only family to support the Dark Side and their switch would cause Voldemort to strategize again, straying him from his initial target that would be the prophecy- Harry in other words. The only obstacle that had  _stopped_  him. For good.

Many more possibilities swam around her head, her fast mind conjuring alternate scenarios to every move the Malfoys might make. It did no good. Especially when she knew that back in her time wizarding world had achieved peace and had finally reconstructed the Ministry from scratch. A new era, just and fair, had begun.

Well, before Hermione travelled back in time, that had been the case.

Scared out of her wits and desperate to clung to her known future, Hermione acted without thinking.

"Stupefy!" Malfoy Sr. fell with a thud, but Hermione didn't leave him be. It would be of no benefit for her if Malfoy Sr. remembered her to any extent, let alone the preposterous debt condition she had laid about. Honestly, what was she thinking?

Hermione took a few breaths to calm down and eventually cast the memory charm that would make Malfoy Sr. forget about their conversation. " _Obliviate."_  She added new memories, those supported the fact that he survived the disease on his own. There was nothing left in his mind regarding to her.

Hermione was mulling over whether she should do something similar to Lucius Malfoy as well, but before she could decide the arsehole would never willingly mention her again, the idea of righting the timeline came to her mind. All of her previous thoughts vanished.

If Malfoy Sr. were to die wouldn't the timeline be as it should?

Sure there was some delay and a few unexpected events in between the desired outcome, but as long as the facts were right, history should find its natural flow. Right?

Her hand shook as she continued to aim her wand at the unconscious man on the floor. He didn't look the fraction of the threat he actually was. A well-groomed man of the age of fifty something. Already had a tired stature for a man of wealth, his health having been jeopardized for some time, no amount of money in the world had helped him. He had been scared, Hermione bet, as any other person would be in his situation. Lying in a hospital bed, diagnosed with a lethal disease, counting his days till the end. He had raved of the people he cared about, the unfinished business he no longer had the chance of chasing, the forgiveness he had not yet pleaded from those he had hurt.

All of them did. Malfoy Sr. could be no exception.

She had given him another chance. Hermione had cured him, laid all the new possibilities to the man- though he may not have deserved it.

It was what she did, heal people that was.

Hermione pocketed her wand, cursing as she headed to the fireplace. She was not going to do it. She had become a Healer to save more lives. Her momentary idea to…  _to kill..._ contradicted her very nature. They were no longer in a war, Hermione had put those days past her.

It was wrong.

Thinking over, it was a quick deduction that the future she had known had already perished. She could accept it only now. She had done some irrevocable changes in the timeline. The proof laid stupefied in the drawing room she Floo-ed away from.

And if she was going to go with it, change events as she pleased, then Hermione had better places to start.

It was time to make a plan.

* * *

Lucius hesitated in front of his father's study room. It had only been a week at most since his discharge from St. Mungo's, but the man was already up on his feet, working for Merlin knows what.

Lucius knew what: His father was busy blocking his vaults, or stopping any transaction of the Malfoy vaults all together.

Clenching his fists, Lucius cracked his neck to hear the soothing noise.  _Better._  He itched to throw his hair back, mess it up, correct it, things a real man should never do -pristine he wanted to look, not bloody nervous-, and even after accidentally shattering a vase, his rage had hardly diminished.

That's why it was quite admirable that he had managed to refrain from barging in without knocking.

Knock, he did.

"Yes," drawled a husky voice. He wasn't surprised upon entering the room to find it somewhat fogged, his father smoked pipe. Collecting various smokingpipes of different materials, it was safe to say the habit was an indulgence that defined Abraxas Malfoy.

Becoming a bed-bound patient in a hospital had ripped the trait off him, but it wasn't hard to pick it up upon getting slightly better.

Lucius scrunched his face and watched as his father unerringly walked around his desk to sit down to his leather armchair. He looked better. Healthy. Lowering the pipe from his mouth, he smirked, an expression that reminded Lucius that his father was perfectly fine.

How unlucky he was…

He had been so close -so close!- to inherit everything and be called the Lord Malfoy. Lucius had dutifully visited his father every damn day and spent precious half and hour of his mornings to stare at his dying father. They hadn't talked the past two months. Dragon Pox killed slowly.

"Father." Lucius seethed of anger, thus why he hardly sounded  _loving_. Being honest, Narcissa Black, his fiance, hadn't experienced that side of him as well. At best, Lucius  _cared_. "Funny thing, what happened-"

_An understatement_ , his mind screamed but before he could explain to his father how the filthy little money grubbers, those goblins, had rejected the check out of a sum that was  _vital_ for the next mission of the Death Eaters, his father intervened. Lucius had been animated to explain especially the part where the goblin that was in charge of their vaults had informed him,  _yes, Mr. Abraxas Malfoy ceased your access,_  but alas, Lucius wasn't given chance to  _speak_.

"It is on my order," his father said. Puffing another smoke, he continued. " _Funny thing,_  it definitely is. I don't see it fit to  _donate_  our money to someone of no equal standing."

Lucius immediately thought his father went nuts, daring to claim Lord Voldemort inferior while his vision and power had brought them to where they were at the moment. They were advancing as the wizarding society, aiming to create a world they would not need to hide. They would dominate those filthy Muggles and show them they had nothing to be ashamed of. They should be done with hiding.

While Lucius flared with those thoughts straining his patience, he was not aware that there was another reason why Abraxas Malfoy had decided to cut his financial support for the Dark Lord.

The older man was no fool, and if he had had his own way, he wouldn't have blocked all of his money transaction, even to claim his son's vault, but would have gradually ceased his support. He would give away less and less money while finding other fools to fill his place, keeping up the appearance that he searched for new supporters, and when the time was right -which was not now, for Salazar's sake- he would silently step down. The Malfoys were never expected to devote themselves personally to the cause anyway. His unexpected disease had prevented such an audacious demand, both for himself and his son.

However, that long term plan failed him. Yes, Abraxas had tried. Although it had bothered him at the back of his mind, the idea had been sound and sly. It could work.

The reason he had even considered that option was that he had had a feeling ever since surviving a lethal disease on his own -Merlin knew those useless Healers had been of no help, it had been a miracle bestowed on him and him only with how strong his magical core was- that he shouldn't continue with this… this nonsense. Yes, nonsense, it was. He was no longer a young graduate of Hogwarts, striving for his ideals. Ideals were important too, no mistake there, but Abraxas Malfoy valued his own life more nowadays and he wished to be private in his living. Simply put, he cared not an ounce what Muggles did. That had been the useless dwellings of lately which he no longer wished to be a part of.

So with that escape-plan in mind, Abraxas went over another donation to be signed off from their vault -Lucius had missed that one, with the excitement of his recovery, he assumed- that he had drafted the papers once more priory for a smaller sum. The shock and  _pain_ he felt the moment his quill met the paper to sign, was a wake up call.

His vision had gone black for a moment, the room twisting from where he sat, his own breathing not quite enough to calm down his panicking heart. His chest felt heavy as though pounds of rock weighed it down.

For a split second, Abraxas had thought the disease was striking back, that he would drop dead at that very moment, but when he threw the quill away and rose to his feet in his fervor, all the symptoms ceased.

It was as though a new page was turned over and he felt perfectly fine. It was  _magic_.

Abraxas Malfoy blinked, then turned to stare at the papers. Even the sight of them made him nauseous. He dismissed the signature and retreated to his chamber for the remaining day.

Lord Malfoy did not decide to freeze his vaults until the next day when he had dinner with close friends to celebrate his recovery. It was fine until the conversation strayed to recent political events. His well-being, however, declined with each passing second, each time someone uttered  _Mudblood_ , and each time they basked in the glory of the Death Eaters' accomplishments.

It was his magic, Abraxas had realized that night. It reacted to everything: going out of his control, draining him, damaging him, hurting others.

The silence after he had accidentally split the dinner table in half had conveyed the message that he wanted everyone  _out_  of his house.

Cut ties, Abraxas Malfoy had eventually set his mind to do. His magic needed solace and peace, none would be possible if they were to associate with the Death Eaters.

His disobedient and selfish son would come around, with how similar he was to his own youth.

He was confident that his decision would do his family well, himself precisely.


	4. Chapter 4

"Surely, young Sirius Black could leave us on our own." Lucius grabbed a hold of Narcissa's hand and kissed the back of it, lingering longer at her smooth skin than he was allowed priorly when the Black family was welcomed to the Manor for dinner. He looked up at her, one eyebrow arching to ask if it would be okay to kiss again- but he kissed regardless. Narcissa chuckled.

The door to his study closed at the same time a throat was cleared.

"Cissy deserves better than you, so, no, Malfoy. I will make myself comfortable-" Lucius had righted himself and looked over at the LeStrange brothers who were the last ones to enter. "-by your desk."

Lucius exhaled and turned to take a look-over at thirteen-years-old Black. He had indeed made himself comfortable at Lucius' leather chair, swinging his legs from the corner of the desk even.  _Such barbaric manners_ , Lucius tutted. Mr. and Mrs. Black had obviously failed to teach the brat proper pureblood etiquette. Or it was simply that this boy was the black sheep among the lot- white, come to think of it.

Lucius wouldn't have allowed Sirius Black in the Manor if it were not for the title that the brat would hold in the future, and the fact that he was the current chaperone of the Black family in Narcissa's name. Big responsibilities for a boy undeserving.

Because Cygnus Black had failed to give male heirs, it was bestowed on Orion and Walburga Black to carry on the legacy of the Ancient Black family. It was unfortunate that their boy was a disgrace, a Gryffindor no less.

Lucius' face was about to contort with a sneer but Narcissa circled around him to walk to Black. She elegantly shoved his feet off the desk and smiled as she took a good firm on his shoulder.

"Cousin, please. Do you wish to join my lovely aunt who stayed back? She and Reggie must be having a grand time."

Lucius' mouth quirked at the blanched face of Black. Rabastan laughed from the back while Rodolphus snorted.

Remembering his more important guests, Lucius joined them by the couches. "Rodolphus, it's rare to see you unattached. Say, have you finally gotten rid of-"

It was as though he had  _called_ on her. Salazar knew, he had not! But just like that the door to his study opened and a young woman barged in, her wild curls swirling around her as she made her grand entrance.

"Bella."

Rodolphus had spoken at the same time with Narcissa. It was an intimate nickname, especially to be uttered around  _friends_. Bellatrix Black had not yet agreed to Rodolphus' courtship. The fool didn't know what he was signing up to.

"Ah, Cissy this, Cissy that! Aunt Wally should have been here, she knows how to talk about the more important things." Bellatrix hadn't joined them when Lucius lead his fiance and friends to his study, leaving the parents to themselves to chat. And Bellatrix. She was a meddlesome bitch.

Bellatrix huffed her hair away and sat across Lucius- furthest from Rodolphus. "Can't believe she got sick last minute. What are potions for, right?"

"Mother sick? I wish," Sirius Black chimed in with a laugh in his voice. "Though jealousy as big as hers must have made her stomach funny."

"Hush, now." Narcissa was quite polite, Lucius thought. He would have murdered the boy by now. If he had conversed with his own father in such manner… Abraxas Malfoy was not known to be forgiving.

"Dear Lucius!" Bella shrieked, her crooked smile getting across her inner craze. "You look the more dashing than last I've seen you. When was that… wait, let me think about- a ha! Your father was out in St. Mungo's while you opened one of his ancient wines," -she licked her teeth at that, a wacky glint in her eyes- "if I remember correctly."

Lucius would not glare at the woman. She was a sour bitch who hadn't been able ingest rejection.  _Courting her sister afterwards didn't help,_  Lucius mused with a sadistic pleasure.

It was known among Lucius' close circle that he hadn't  _properly_ mourned during his father's illness.

His death had been absolute. The diagnosis was as good as a death sentence- had been, at least.

Recalling the event that had initiated his father's recovery -that atrocious fake healer's interference-, Lucius felt bile rise that almost clouded his judgement to be collected and silent-

"Congratulations are in order I suppose. I know you had envision differently, but your father-" Rodolphus was saying as was proper. Tonight might be an unofficial dinner for the Malfoys and Blacks to sit down and smooth over the courtship details, but it was the first time the brothers visited after his father's recovery. Rodolphus had said a few words about it at the table, but as he was Lucius' friend first, it was only right for him to pass his wishful words.

Although all of them knew Lucius did not feel an ounce of happiness for the sudden recovery.

Rabastan's laughter rode over his older brother, though: "Mate, you can always slip  _something_  in his wine, and he wouldn't wake up the next morning."

Lucius shook his head at his hopelessness. Rab had always been like this. The same back in their days in Hogwarts, the same now. Lucius couldn't believe himself that he hadn't slipped  _something_  in his pumpkin juice the seven years they had been dormmates.

"BO-RING." Bellatrix chimed. "The house-elves taste the meals beforehand anyway. Better think of an  _actual_  bright idea? Oh, I know- the Killing Curse?"

Lucius tuned out Bellatrix and Rabastan's bickering. With Bellatrix one year their junior, Lucius was accustomed to their friendship, but it was a fact that he barely tolerated the both of them.

Rodolphus leaned towards him to whisper: "Once you marry-"

Lucius' eyes shot to Narcissa who was entertaining her cousin. He and Rodolphus had once or twice talked about this. After he married, Lucius' say in the Malfoy inheritance would expand. And if he were to provide an heir- the existence of Lord and Lady Malfoy would be of little importance. He and Narcissa would be the future.

Yet, that was not enough.

Lucius flared with anger. He thought back to getting the news that his vaults were blocked. He remembered his father's dismissal when he had confronted him.

All of the setback of their current missions were all because he hadn't  _died_. The old coot. Abraxas Malfoy was a coward, no longer wishing to support the Dark Lord. Even the thought burned Lucius' Mark, but he was confident by now that  _this_  was his father's intention.

Something had changed. Something was not  _right_.

His father's death would have been unfortunate but Lucius would have filled his stead; doing justice to the Malfoy's position in the Inner Circle. He would magnify their power tenfold and ensure their place in the new society that was to be constructed. He would have made his father proud. His death would liberate him. It had been the time.

But what had happened?

That… that imposter had done something to his father. The day the curly haired woman -he doubted she had been a Healer- intervened with everything, his father's fate had changed.

And that next time Abraxas Malfoy had wanted her presence?

As the dutiful son, he had obeyed his wish, but where had that gotten to him?

Thinking back to how his father never spoke of her, dismissing him when he even pried, acting unknowing, Lucius couldn't help but target his vengeance at the woman.

He would have his answers, and somebody would  _pay_.

* * *

He had already turned the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup and the diadem into Horcruxes.

This realization hit Hermione hard as she had no leads to acquire them. There was perhaps the diadem, it was likely in the Room of Requirements, but locating it had little benefit.

Not to mention, this time around, there was no Gryffindor's Sword soaked with Basilisk venom to help her.

She had a flitting idea that she might be able to take the Basilisk down in the Chamber of Secrets, and she had even gone to Hogwarts to do it -all ready and fired up-, but being unable to open the Chamber had been devastating, especially all the while she got Myrtle's mocking commentary ("Such monstrous hair! I would have cried in a cubicle if I were you."). Hermione had overlooked the little detail that she could not speak Parseltongue.  _Great._

At least, it wasn't all a lost. She would have visited Hogwarts anyway. Confiding with Dumbledore had seem like a good idea, and it was an adequate excuse to check the diadem. After she had confirmed, yes, the diadem set quitely in its prior place, she had proceeded to her much needed meeting with Dumbledore. Especially when she was overwhelmed with her lack of knowledge on Voldemort and totally spent due to her new job taking its toll on her. Coming up with a wizarding-world-rescue plan was not apparently cheap; she had to work overtime.

Dumbledore hadn't been helpful, now that she reflected on it. She was unable to confess everything truthfully since she was aware of the consequences of revealing the future to such an extent. And when she  _hypothetically_  inquired about a witch or a wizard going forward in time, she had been forced to erect her strongest Occlumency shield to Dumbledore's magic tingling at the border of her mind. After that, she had apologized and excused herself. Better not attract too much attention.

That endeavour turning out to be a dead-exit, it left her with only one option: Fiendfyre. Or she could breed her own Basilisk, an idea to which Hermione had shaken her head immediately.

The solution set, Hermione had started to research. For a week, she had both worked and researched at her remaining time. Which made her realize that  _money_  was her first and foremost problem.

There was no such a thing as public library in the wizarding culture, and the only similar one -Hogwarts- had very few information about how to cast the specific spell instead of giving its history and application areas. Thus why Hermione had found herself either rummaging bookshops or sending owls to pureblood families for access to their personal libraries. The latter solution had only recently came to her mind and the only family she had owled till now was the Potters.

That was the least of her problems, though. Her main issue when it come to her finances was that even if she were to work her arse off and miraculously have the energy to do research, she wouldn't be left with enough money to buy potion ingredients or some rare tomes. Those two were vital for her objective in general, but in the back of her mind, Hermione also knew that at one point she had to have a stable house if she were to continue living here. Renting a room and working to pay it was not exactly optimum and, like she explained, it left her little liberty to pursue her world-saving plans.

There was a possibility… A possibility that Hermione was suspicious that would work. Well, magic could solve many of her problems, and she was indeed  _magically_ adopted.

Funny thing it was, really. It had happened at the summer of their fourth year when she stayed in Grimmauld Place for the remaining half of August. It had been used as the Order's hideout and she had arrived early to join the Weasleys who were waiting for Harry, too.

Sirius Black had been alive back then. Alive and well. Just a bit unhinged, if you had asked Hermione -probably because being locked away once more, albeit not Azkaban-, but he was fine.

Hermione had doubts about that whenever he stared at her, though. A sadness would cloud his grey eyes and his brows would crease with what Hermione guessed that had been worry, and he would observe her endlessly. She had caught him countless times. If that very sadness hadn't drowned him, which most of the times had, he would quickly quirk his eyebrows up and smile at her.

She had learned what troubled him the night Harry arrived at the Grimmauld Place that summer.

She had, once again, stayed late reading a book in the living room. Harry and Ron had already retreated to their rooms to chat. Hermione was planning to join them when she flexed her aching limbs and yawned, if they were awake that was.

She was startled when she saw a movement from the corner of her eyes. A huge black dog had lifted its head, staring at her while its tail patted restlessly. Her audible yawn must have drawn its attention, she mused. But she hadn't known why Sirius looked so eager.

One moment, there was a black dog lunging at the couch across her, then the next, a fully grown man with the blackest hair, looked her way.

"I've finally found it!" Sirius quickly moved to the edge of the couch and leaned towards her, an enthusiastic glint in his eyes. "Do you wanna guess  _what_ , kitten? But no, you'll be wrong, I bet."

Scrunching her face, though somewhat of a smile forming on her lips, Hermione thought that Sirius Black, to whom she felt close as though an uncle, was quite the unpredictable man. She had never guessed right to his questions.

"I'm all ears," she said, holding her hands up -a book in one- in a mock-surrender.

"You know, when all this ends," Sirius's voice was suddenly hoarse, and the excitement in his eyes had dimmed. "I can see Ronald with his family, they might lose everything else but… They will be together; worn-out individually, but together strong." -Sirius clenched his hands together to emphasize exactly that.

"Harry will… I really don't know. I hope he will have me with him, but I had hoped - _prayed_ \- he would always have his parents with him, Lily and James, but…"

There was a silence.

Hermione cleared her throat. "I know what happened."

Siris nodded and only then continued. "What I know about Harry is that he will have what his parents have left, the cottage in Godric's Hollow, Potter's Manor, and whatnot. He will also have his fame. Something that can be utilized well, something that can't be stripped away from the Boy-Who-Lived. He'll have you and Ron, of course, but… what I mean is that he will compensate not having a family  _somehow._ "

Another silence. This one had stretched out longer.

Hermione had a rough idea what Sirius was coming at, even if she had missed the clear indication of the dread that filled her. She hadn't.

She thought about her parents occasionally. She had been thinking about them ever since the first lie that had left her mouth in the second year. Her parents didn't know about her petrification. They didn't know about her third year, and definitely not Voldemort's return from last year. Although Hermione was yet to grasp the weight of Voldemort's return and asses what that would mean for her in the near-future, she was realistic enough that danger would not merely pass tangent to her.

But Dumbledore was alive. So for now, they were safe.

"But you…" Sirius' voice brought Hermione back and the concern in the older man's tone struck to Hermione in a way that she could not explain. It vanquished any hope she might feel for a moment, about her and her parents' safety.

"You are Muggle-born. A famous and intelligent Muggle-born. Courageous, no less. I don't see you cowering away and hiding. No, you'll stand beside Harry, I'm sure."

Hermione couldn't help but grin. She had no idea where Sirius was coming from, honestly, but she'd listen. This was important, she knew.

"But your Muggle parents..."

At that the grin on her face was wiped off.

"I know you'll do everything to protect them. Dumbledore will do the best that he can, too. But Hermione- I just can't help but think back- back to those days when there were news of Muggleborns and their families. All were murdered. They were friends from Hogwarts. Some of them survived, being in Hogwarts at the time of the crime. However,  _some_  weren't lucky- if you call surviving while your loved ones died as  _lucky,_  that is.

"Now, I don't know about your situation with your parents. But what I know, Hermione, is that I've come to like you quite a lot and I can't ever repay you for saving me last year. Your  _Bombarda_  is still music to my ears by the way, I relive that moment in my dreams. Anyway, I just… Well, what I want to say is that, if it's within my power I want to help you...promise you some kind of a  _guarantee_ -"

Hermione felt her eyes itch and the next she knew she felt something wet on her hand. A tear had dropped, more would come in private, she knew. "You mean, if -or  _when-_  my parents die, and I- I have nowhere else to go."

Stating the obvious had never hurt so much.

"I want to adopt you, Hermione."

It was such an abrupt change in the atmosphere that she felt her breath caught. Her mind had tossed to a wall, and her amortized thoughts left her perplexed. "What?"

"You heard me. If you accept, you'll be my heir. I will make sure that you'll be capable in  _any_ case and I will rest in peace in my grave. I can't repay you my freedom in any amount -even the Black Vaults can't size up to that- but I can do that much. Just a fast blood-ritual. Nothing has to change. Nobody has to know."

...well, that was how it had happened.

She had indeed inherited the Black properties. After the war, the news had been a shock to a few people who had been indulged with the arrangement, but besides living in the Grimmauld Place, Hermione had never abused Sirius' memory. If she had been more resourceful, this bit of development could have been more useful in their time in the run. She had been so focused on Harry's safety, concerned about her parents and conflicted because of Ronald that she had barely given it any mind.

Sitting in her small rented room above a pub in 1972, counting money to put away for ingredients of Polyjuice potion and hearing her stomach grumble, Hermione finally contemplated that perhaps her inheritance could come in handy- or her adoption, in this case.

Blood magic would proceed time and space, she guessed. It was still her blood that coursed in her veins, right? The one mixed with Sirius', bounded to his magic. The Black magic. She was a Black as much as him. Enough to bare the surname if she wished.  _She had been, at least._

As Hermione transfigured her outfit to plain formal robes that morning, getting ready to visit Gringotts, Hermione was trying to convince herself that she was not stealing anything. Not that she had any issue stealing  _anything_  -she had broken into Gringotts, for Godric's sake- but still she eased herself by saying that the money she was about to withdraw was probably the very same money that she would have taken in her own time. Money of the Blacks was  _old_ money.

It was safe to try anyway. The worst that could happen? She would stun the goblin and escape. The one on the front desk, not the one that would lead to the Vaults. She might know the way back down from there but she didn't fancy the idea of attracting attention by riding a  _dragon_ out of oh-so-secure-Gringotts.

It was a windy day for February. At least there was no rain. But as Hermione made her way to the famous bank, she got agitated how her hood struggled to stay in place. She didn't like it when her hair came free, she hadn't braided it today.

That's how she bumped into someone. Her curls dancing in the wind,  _getting_  into her eyes, and herself cursing to every founder of Hogwarts.

"Ouch, what did poor Helga Hufflepuff do to you?"

"Sorry, I wasn't looking my way!" Hermione said before she could register what was said.

"I can see that much," the man answered, a grin on his face. Hermione couldn't help but reflect the mimic. He was right, Helga was indeed a pure soul.

The man seemed around her age- two years give or take. He had auburn hair, slicked back that made it look shorter than it actually was. She was put off by it at first, how it made her remember Malfoy from their first years, but he had warm blue eyes that reminded her of Ron. His were darker in colour, but there was something unmistakably Weasley about him. Definitely not the strong jaw and dimples. Or the slightly predatory smirk on his lips.

Hermione felt herself blush, but she collected herself right away. "Anyway, I better-"

"-I didn't catch your name."

She opened her mouth, about to answer thoughtlessly - _again_ \- , but she was cut short with a feral growl. " **YOU.** "

It was a low and threatening voice, full of acid and venom.

"Malfoy." Hermione's greeting wasn't welcomed it seemed as Lucius stiffened and  _hmph_ ed. She could see his hand fisting his cane tighter. She didn't comment.

"You two know each other?"

"Indeed." Malfoy's voice suddenly lightened just as his face. There was a spark in his eyes. "I was meaning to  _get a hold of you_ , actually-" -Hermione was positive he meant  _literally_ \- "-and such a perfect chance!"

The tense silence that would surely envelope them was prevented, however, by a delighted voice:

"I absolutely agree! Why don't we invite this pretty lady to our dinner this evening? Surely the Blacks would be welcoming to another guest."

The suggestion had come from the friendlier man whom Lucius Malfoy wished to throttle at the moment.

Hermione was about to clear her throat, get the hell away from there somehow, but-

"Decided, then!" Lucius' friend announced, clapping his hands. " I'm Evan Rosier, miss. And you are?"


	5. Chapter 5

She went and did it again.

"Hermione Granger."

It had always been Harry who was better with words. Even Ron had more tact than her. Hermione seriously had no filter between her brain and mouth. She had gotten better over the years, sure, but this was not like stating opinion when asked, for example how she commented on Parvati Patil's dress to Hogsmeade. She used to outright bash the girl's choice of garment for its lack of functionality, or its discorrelation with the weather, but this was not her fourth year in Hogwarts, nor was the person whom she talked to her friend- or acquaintance, for that matter. Also, this tidbit of reveal could get her killed whereas insulting Parvati used to equal an argument and gossips.

Hermione couldn't exactly decide which was worse, even when she stared at the flabbergasted Evan Rosier.

"Surely not a Mudblood," said the person in question. His voice was still light and cheerful. Although the use of the derogatory term, the disappointment that was likely to follow his worry wouldn't trouble him, Hermione could guess. She had the feeling the man could act as though the whole encounter had never happened. She wouldn't be more than a fly that flew a bit closer than necessary.

"What would you expect-" Lucius Malfoy's voice stirred Hermione's brain awake. If they believed her to be a Muggle-born, she was as good as dead. Lucius Malfoy, the greatest supporter of Lord Voldemort surely wouldn't let her go. He would enjoy ending her himself.

It astounded her how she quickly collected the dislikes of the Malfoys. Draco had been the same. Lucius too. Both in her own timeline and now.

To avoid Lucius all together, Hermione could perhaps leave the country. However, clearing the arena for Tom Riddle to play his game was not at all her intention. Hermione had decided to end him for good, long before Harry would end up as the Boy-Who-Lived. She had more than a few years. She had this.

"Actually," Hermione intervened. Her brain went overdrive as she searched for an acceptable excuse. She didn't miss the interested glint in Rosier's eyes. "I'm adopted."

That was true. But Hermione didn't exactly want to associate herself with the Blacks. At least not in these years the family was very much  _alive_. It wouldn't be easy to pass as an obscure relative.

So, the inspiration from her best friend struck her just on time, she had to admit. This could buy her time. "Never knew who my parents were, but left the horrible Muggles who raised me when I enrolled in Beauxbatons. Trailed my real parents here in England, you see."

Harry should have left the Dursleys, Hermione had always thought. They had been inhuman to live with.

"Unfortunate." Rosier's comment was shadowed by Lucius': "Makes little difference."

There was a tense moment as Rosier's gaze bore into Lucius, and the man surprisingly  _fidgeted_  on spot. Rosier seemed older, just then. There were deep lines to his forehead, grey in his stubble, and a look to his sharp eyes that said he had seen  _more._  Next Hermione knew, Rosier squeezed the blonde man's shoulder and smiled.

"We'd be delighted if we could help somehow, Miss Granger. Over dinner tonight, perhaps you'd be willing to indulge us with the details."

* * *

In the end, he had not needed those papers. They were mere guidelines for his presentation— the initial panic of having misplaced them wasn't what bothered him even after the meeting was done and his foreign investors were beyond pleased.

Orion Black was a well-established businessman, known both in England and abroad. Although his initial investment as a young graduate of Hogwarts had been buying a publisher, once it made more profit than expected, he had branched out to the service sector— his hotel chain  _Melania_  (named after his deceased mother) had none other to rival its growth. What marked Melania Hotels different was, however, not its reputation of being the sought out place for the grandest events for all the wizarding communities throughout the world, but its divergence to the Muggle territory as well. Not everyone was privy to the information, only Orion and a handful of people. And those who knew were very pleased with the increasing income filling their new vaults after overflowing from their old ones.

 _That_ branching had initiated the sudden outgrowth to the foreign lands. If American, French, Spanish, German, Turkish, Japanese and  _many_  more, wizarding communities benefited from the extravagant and luxurious Melania Hotels, it was because Muggle money poured to Orion and he chose to expand his business.  _And_  travel.

Orion Black would be the guest of honour to the opening ceremonies of his new hotels (Muggle ones excluded, he would not care to attend them) and the fact that it provided an escape from 12 Grimmauld Place was an additional prize.

He never fancied being confined to that house. The wretched bitch that was his wife, Walburga Black, made it even the less appealing to linger about. He wasn't blind to the war picking up in the horizon. They had five years of peace at most. Another reason why establishing roots at foreign wizarding lands was a smart move on Orion's side.

Yes, everything was going smoothly for him. The meeting from earlier had been for introducing his hotels to a group of Australian wizards and witches. For the weekend he would welcome them in his hotel, give them a tour and personally attend to the final dinner that would seal the deal. They would be the Australian representative of his hotels. Within a year, Melania Hotels would have its newest jewel constructed there.

That minor drawback prior to the meeting -his papers weren't in his case where he had put them the other night- hadn't caused any unsavory outcome.

Orion Black wouldn't be brought down by that.  _However,_  he have had a foul mood ever since. It was because his house-elf hadn't come when called.

He would not tolerate slacking of. Although he had never had such an issue with Whiny before, it didn't mean she could make a habit of it.

His orders should be foremost, nothing else.

His foul mood, however, didn't brighten upon Dissapparating to his house. He found his house-elf busy  _cooking_. There were other elves around to cook, for Salazar's sake! His personal elf should have been attending him.

"Mistress asked me to, master. I wished to come, but mistress said- said-"

Orion breathed from his nostrils, and simply asked. " _What_ did she ask _?_ "

"S-she would give clothes. She needed the cooking finished and Whiny should help, she said." The house-elf's bulging eyes watered and she cried. In her hysteria, she drew blood with sharp fingernails on her upper arms where she gathered her arms. "Bad, bad Whiny. I shouldn't have said that about Mistress. I should have answered master's call. Bad bad elf!"

Orion dismissed Whiny. He had no need of her. His Oxfords clanging to the floor with every angry step, Orion made his way to the dining room where he guessed his wife was.  _The bitch…_ "Walburga!"

"Yes, Orion?"

What he saw was natural and right. Walburga Black sat at the far end of the room, in a single ritzy armchair, which together with the rest of the seating furniture, faced the old but vast fireplace. She hurled her rather unkempt and greasy hair above her shoulder, and corrected her deep burgundy robes while she gazed the room in a air of pride.

Following her gaze, he noticed, where Orion had entered the room, there was the long table with its heavy chairs that had not been there in the morning, already readied for dinner. The paintings which adorned every corner seemed to Orion as odd…  _new._  The colour of the velvet curtains were not their usual navy blue, but a dark forest green. Mrs. Black seemed to have redecorated the room to her flitting liking. Though, even that wasn't the reason why it was  _wrong_  altogether.

Scrunching his nose, Orion met with Walburga's priggish gaze. How she rarely changed, Orion couldn't believe! She had been the same ever since Hogwarts. She had been four years his senior, and every time he saw her after her graduation -in the society balls or Black gatherings- she never changed. The same make-up, the same expression and the same unhinge. She was older, but wore the ghost of her youth. It was repelling.

"Would you care to explain why my personal elf is attending to house-work?"

Her bulging eyes feigned innocence. It wasn't to deny knowledge of it, Orion knew his wife well. It was to convince the rightfulness of her actions.

"Surely, it would be here to help! We have important guests, this evening. Everything has to be  _perfect_."

Orion flexed his fingers one by one, and pulled them to a fist again. It was his left hand. The one that  _could_  grab his wand.

"Guests?" Orion asked. "It's only Evan Rosier. He is an old friend, Walburga. I'll host him personally, no need to go so such an extent."

She cackled, holding the back of her hand to cover mouth. It would look politer in any other witch, but…

"Oh, darling," she exclaimed and stood. Walking to him, she looked more like a mother patronizing her child. Her happy mood only added to his annoyance. Orion sympathized with his son the most at such moments. Sirius was right to start a fight, he knew, but he always scolded him, albeit  _eventually,_  to respect his mother. Orion always took his sweet time to intervene to their arguments, though. At least whenever he was present to witness them.  _Not much_ , he remembered thinking back to his absences throughout the summer.

"Although Rosier is  _always_  welcome in our house-" -he wasn't, at least for Walburga- "-tonight is not about your old school mate."

He arched his brow at that, his lips curling in distaste. There was a content look on Walburga's face. It was different from yesterday when she had gone nuts and blew up half of the house. They had been invited to their niece Narcissa's pre-engagement with the Malfoy boy, but Walburga had refused to come.

It was because of old matters. Matters that she had vowed to put past if Orion had married her.

"We'll have the Malfoys over!" Walburga exclaimed. Her eyes lighted with a fire of vengeance. Orion was not informed about her plans, but he certainly did not need to be involved. Perhaps he could invite Evan over to the hotel-

"As her aunt, I feel responsible to care for Narcissa. The poor girl lost her mother, and to arrange a marriage without a knowledgeable woman's assistance?"

Orion could admit that the sentiment would have been touching if it were not Walburga to fill-in late Druella Black's place.

Cygnus' family have been through rough times. Five years it has been since the disgrace of his eldest daughter. She ran away with a Mudblood. An abominable mistake carved on the name of the House of Black. Cygnus had held his head high, but his wife… Druella had become sick, afterwards being bed-bound.

Narcissa lost her mother only last year, an unfortunate circumstance that had further postponed her wedding to Malfoy Jr..

It was kismet to have it now. And Walburga was  _enthusiastic_  to help anyway that she can.

"What good am I if I don't help my dear niece? Yesterday, my brother went to have dinner with the Malfoys and it's our turn to dine them." Orion resigned, he could guess where that line of thought of Walburga would lead. "Narcissa and Bellatrix should arrive now. We'll have tea beforehand, males excluded. However, once the Malfoys join us, I expect you beside my brother, Cygnus. Alphard owled me that he couldn't make it- so perhaps another time can be arranged to have him as well. But as it stands, it is only appropriate to have the Lord Black to watch over the dinner."

"Evan-" Orion started but the answer was ready.

"-can join if he so pleases."

Orion nodded. It was just a dinner. After tonight, he was away on business the whole weekend. Sure, he would still be in England, showing his hotels to those Australians, but it would be somewhere away from Grimmauld Place.

Just as he was about to turn around, Walburga shared a helpful reminder.

"Take the beast you call son with you tomorrow. I don't want to see him the weekend. You could floo him to Hogwarts as well."

That awful voice and the ugly twist of her face were only the few of the list that appalled Orion. It had been her idea to excuse Sirius from Hogwarts, making him the chaperone whilst she as well knew Narcissa and Malfoy wouldn't be left to their own devices even by adults. She had wanted to show who had the strings, who would be the future of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, and what better way to do it by attaining her heir responsible for the courtship.

It was not only a move that showed the Malfoys who was in charge, but also put Cygnus in place.

Orion felt the move to be excess, the power balance in the Black family was obvious for definite reasons. With two male children to his name, Orion would hold the title till his last breath and Walburga would always have the upper-hand against her brother.

It was because his boy was a Gryffindor. An exception to the Black family. A strange phenomenon, really. He was reckless, un-abiding, irresponsible, devoid of manners… Sirius was a lot of things, a cringe to the name of Black when he was in public most importantly, but he was his son. He would learn. Sirius wasn't as lucky as he had been in his youth, having years to finally accept and own up the family duties. Given time, Sirius, too, would change. Just like Orion had.

He had a responsibility.  _And a hag as a mother._

Unlucky kid. Sirius wasn't half-bad when he was with Orion, though still a handful to contain.

"Yes, of course." It occured to Orion just then. "Father won't be present, will he? I suppose this dinner is unofficial, then?"

Walburga's great mood fazed. Her smile was forced now. "Unfortunately. Uncle Arcturus must have misplaced my letter, or his owl should have arrived by now."

Orion nodded absentmindedly and turned to leave for good this time. Orion didn't want to linger on the prospect of an official invite, but he guessed a ball in the near future. Waste of time, really, all of it was.

At least tonight. Why need the Malfoys over if they were going to come again? Orion didn't have anything against them, mind you, Orion was reserved by nature. Abraxas had been a close mate in their Hogwarts years, but for tonight Orion had had different plans.

Sighing, he mused that fate contradicted him.

Thinking that Evan would come to his study room directly, it didn't seem all a loss as they would catch up before his cousin and the Malfoys arrived.

* * *

Hermione had the distinct feeling that there was a joke that she wasn't getting.

Sure, the real joke was that she had agreed for this dinner- who'd in their right mind come to a dinner with the Malfoys and Blacks, known Death Eaters, anyway? Apparently that was her. As a Muggle-born, she was a bit too enthusiastic to get killed.

Hermione shook her head and reminded the actual reasons for her coming till the front step of the Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

It was because a field-research chance as this one wouldn't come in ages. She could learn how deep in neck the Blacks were about Voldemort. They were blood-purists, no mistake there, but she needed factual knowledge. Who were alive? Who was the Lord Black who'd make the call to support Voldemort? Had Bellatrix already joined their ranks? Had she acquired the Cup?  _That_ was her main interest in the Blacks. Her disinterest in seeing the woman aside, it would mean a milestone if she could locate the Cup as with Bellatrix.

Then there was the Malfoys. Lucius had been the one to sneak the Diary, the first Horcrux to ever be made, into Ginny's cauldron that set of the events of the Chamber of Secrets. Perhaps they already had the Diary? Securing it in the Manor for their Dark Lord.

Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort.

Hermione didn't fancy meeting the monster tonight over dinner, but it would help her if she got insider information about his whereabouts instead of following obscure newspapers. He was back from his trip in Albania, the tiara safely sitting in the Room of Requirement as she had checked last week, that Hermione knew. But when it came to the locket and ring, she had to have a lead. Chatting with Voldemort at dinner to check his fingers for the ring made sense to her at the moment!

Yes, crazy, Hermione could admit to being.

What else explained her suicide of entering a pit of snakes?

Well, Rosier had been rather persuasive…

"Miss Granger, after you." Rosier showed the way. Lucius was absent, he had departed ways earlier, saying that he need to visit the Manor before coming over.

It was now Rosier and Hermione. Another reason why she couldn't understand if there was indeed a joke. If  _Lucius_  had been there, she could perhaps read him to be sure. Hermione wanted to snort. Relying on Lucius frigging Malfoy to be her anchor to familiarity. What an absurd reality!

"Ahem, well, yes." Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and entered the garden. She distinctly heard the crunch of Rosier's steps as he followed her till the door. She cleared her throat and turned around to glance at Rosier. He nodded his encouragement and she knocked.

The door was opened abruptly and surprisingly it wasn't an elf that answered.

The boy was tall, at the level of her chin already, although his face gave away that she shouldn't be fooled by his height. He was young, much young. His black hair curled by the tips where it ended by his jaw. His gray eyes were full of spirit and energy. He panted as though he had rushed to get the door.

"Young master!" shrieked an elf from behind after a pop announced its arrival.

"I was faster!" the boy exclaimed, triumph written all over his face. Before Hermione could ask,  _Faster than Apparition?_ , he added: "Uncle Evan!"

"That's Lord Rosier for you," Rosier said with a toothy grin, no lecturing in his tone. "Let us in, Sirius. It's rude to make a lady wait, you know."

Hermione's mouth would have hung open if she didn't maintain hundred percent self-control. That or she was going to cry. Neither she wished to do at the moment.

Sirius opened the door further and gestured her in, bowing extravagantly, mischief in his smile. "I'm Sirius Black, pretty.  _Lord_  Black, if you'd like. Honoured to meet you!"

Hermione stepped in, about to reply with her name, when a vibration passed her whole body, resonating through her bones. It was stronger than a shiver, but didn't leave you cold afterwards. Her ears pounded, leaving her a bit irritated, but she was fine overall.

"Definitely a pure-blood!" Evan Rosier announced. He moved around Hermione and clapped Sirius' shoulder to proceed in. "She's Hermione Granger, my guest for tonight. See how she passed your father's wards? A half-blood would have fainted."

Hermione watched as an irritated Sirius Black shoved Rosier's arm off of him. Sirius, then, came back to her and looped her hand in his arm.

"Don't worry, Miss Hermione. It's not particularly a ward father put. It was already there, the foul thing. It prevents any non-pure-bloods from entering the house, nonsense if you ask me. Even a Muggle wouldn't be interested in this hideous, dark-" -Rosier's cough stopped Sirius- "-anyway. Father just renewed it last month."

Hermione swallowed. Only now feeling as though the blood in her veins could rush again.

"Wonderful." So that was what the joke was. Ha. Ha.  _Ha._


	6. Chapter 6

The night would be anything but dull. Orion had a few guesses where it might lead, though he dearly prayed his wife would behave herself. There was a reason the Blacks weren't chummy with the Malfoys. Cygnus could have overlooked Walburga's old matters with them in favor of wedding his daughter to the powerful pureblood family, but as her husband, Orion had responsibilities.

One of them being to prevent Walburga from embarrassing herself.

Orion sighed and swirled the glass of firewhiskey in his hand before taking a sip. It had been his father's doing, arranging this marriage with Walburga. Orion had been unattached and Walburga was in need of a suitor. And the Noble House of Black had not been graced with an heir.

Most of the days, when Orion looked at Sirius, he acknowledged that he had done his duty to the family. Regulus, on the other hand, had been a massive mistake.

"Mate!" came a rumbling voice that cut his nostalgic thoughts. How the years passed! "Hadn't you promised I would open the new bottle?"

Orion smirked. If there was one thing about Evan Rosier that never changed, it was his great memory. He remembered everything word to word. It had been a pain in his arse to share a dormitory with him for seven years, and for Orion, it was even worse today, at the age of forty one.

"Had I? Excuse me, then. Once you help me finish this one, you can gladly open the next. Perhaps elvish wine?"

Orion had turned to his desk where he had already poured his old mate a glass, and he was about to offer it to Evan when he noticed that they were not alone in his study.

His son Sirius accompanied a young woman after Evan. She was in her mid twenties if Orion had to guess. She wore plain black robes which were hid behind a thick cloak, giving nothing away. It was the pained look on her face that caught Orion's attention. It was sorrowful. Her amber eyes were expressive to the point that Orion easily deduce she  _mourned_  someone. The shift in the atmosphere as her gaze lingered about had hinted as so. Orion would be hardly mistaken.

"Oh, a guest…?"

Orion's voice dropped when her eyes traveled to his own. He wasn't expecting the small smile. He wasn't expecting the tears that glistened in her eyes.

Orion cleared his throat. Without unlocking his gaze, he addressed her. "Welcome to my humble house. I am-"

"Lord Orion Black, little bird." Evan's interruption didn't phase Orion. "Sirius' father. He is the host for tonight's dinner."

"So I am," Orion affirmed and only then could he stray his attention from the woman. "Evan is an old friend. Must have been the reason he trusted I wouldn't turn down a surplus visitor. Surely, you remember we talked to have a private event?"

Evan didn't need to know Walburga had already changed the plans. Yet.

Both his eyebrows raised, Evan gave a knowing look that feigned shock. "Did we? Sirius here couldn't stop talking about how he loved his cousin Bella. They had a little chat before she joined Walls I believe?"

Orion sighed and passed the glass that was still hanging in the air to his old friend. Now that his hand was free, he took a hold of the woman's and kissed the back of it politely.

"One guest more won't hurt."

* * *

Hermione had a lump in her throat ever since stepping inside. She knew Grimmauld Place like the back of her hand, she had lived here for the last eight years. This was her home.

She had locked away three rooms of this place. Regulus and Sirius' rooms, and the study she was currently in. She had never found the courage to come back here again after Sirius' death. This study was where they had performed the blood ritual for the adoption. It was the last time Hermione had properly seen Sirius. It was the first time he'd welcomed her to his family.

It was too much.

Not only because it reminded her of Sirius, but also it reminded her of the war. Her time in the run. She couldn't help but mourn for all she had lost. It felt absurd with how she held onto young Sirius' arm at the moment, but for her, he was gone. He used to be gone. None of them were alive. Never coming back.

Here, though?

Squeezing Sirius' arm, Hermione forced to pull herself back together. She couldn't let loose and cry right now… Not in front of the Blacks. Not when Orion Black in particular was scrutinizing her just as such.

Hermione had to survive through tonight, gain some insight of the current situation, spy Bellatrix if she had the chance, and most importantly, corner Lucius Malfoy to smooth out a few details.

Lucius Malfoy had to forget how his father was cured, and if he happened to share the location of the diary in the process, what more could Hermione want?

That was the actual reason she was here tonight. Having constructed a believable background for herself while busying Mr. Rosier till this hour, Hermione felt ready.

When Orion Black kissed the back of her hand,  _ready_  was so far away.

He eerily looked like Sirius. Not the one Hermione knew form her own time, but the older version of the young Sirius who currently accompanied her. It was the same strong jaw, piercing gray eyes and the blackest hair imaginable. If the man actually smiled, and perhaps showed a single dimple on the left cheek, Hermione would think he and Sirius to be identical. He reminded Hermione of her own Sirius as well, though. Perhaps he lacked Sirius Black's jovial and mischievous air, but the random gray streaks and harsh expression Sirius wore ever since Azkaban were there on Mr. Black as well.

Orion Black was nothing like how Hermione had imagined him to be.

"Mr. Black." Hermione acknowledged him at last, his hand reluctantly leaving hers.

"Lord, Miss. My father stepped down from his duty long ago."

"Since my birth, Miss Hermione," chirped Sirius next to her. All the adults turned to Sirius at his funny voice. "He would have stepped in, actually, when I was sorted into Gryffindor. But, no, he still has hope for my brother, Regulus."

Hermione couldn't help it. She laughed, not that it was a joke in particular, but she had missed Sirius with how he talked about his family. He had always been like this. Although his older self used to have a wider vocabulary and stricter opinions, the jabs about his family were more or less the same. It always came down to his Hogwarts house, though. Sirius Black prided in being a Gryffindor.

"House of the brave?" Hermione asked immediately after noticing the enraged expression on Lord Black's face. He didn't seem to be pleased with his son. She continued before giving the man the chance to reprimand Sirius. "I read about it in  _Hogwarts_ -"

" _A History_? Who even reads that?"

"I do," Hermione shot with a smile. "Where else can I better learn the famous English Wizarding School?"

"I forget that you are foreigner, dear." Rosier moved so that he could grab Sirius by the shoulder. "You'll talk all about your little adventure to our land over dinner, like we have decided on. Let me and Sirius go and invite the ladies to over. Malfoy should be here any moment."

Hermione couldn't comprehend how fast Rosier left with Sirius, hushed voices trailing behind them. Would Sirius get in trouble? Hermione could bet that this was a mild case for the young Marauder, but she felt conflicted all the same. Sirius hadn't said anything at all, actually. If they had heard what Sirius thought of his mother in Hermione's actual timeline…

"Miss…?"

Hermione slipped from her stray thoughts and focused back at Lord Black. He stood by the door, his left hand gesturing her to proceed.

"Hermione Granger," she informed Lord Black and exited before him without waiting for his reply.

* * *

She had to be a pureblood. Orion mulled over the possibilities, but there was no other explanation. She was right here in his house, not unconscious or dead -laughing in fact at something Rosier had said a moment ago- and she didn't look an ounce out of place.

Of course, her poor attire and atrocious hair were unlike any lady's at the table, not to mention her rather loud and cheerful voice, but somehow Orion couldn't find it in himself to think Walburga more attractive than the young woman. Miss Granger.

She had to be a Mudblood. With that surname? Not another chance.

"Really? And their Head of House believed those Hufflepuffs did it?" Miss Granger said in between gasps. She looked ridiculously flabbergast, the actual reason the story turned out to be so amusing. Evan was happily retelling how a friend of his had helped to make it look like the Slytherin Quidditch team was set-up back when they were all in sixth year. It was an important match. Hufflepuff had miraculously won Gryffindor in the previous game, and Slytherin had to win that round. The cup was bound to be theirs.

In came Evan's little plan.

Nothing fancy, it had been. Two Hufflepuffs were caught while tinkering with the gears of the Slytherin Quidditch team. One of them happened to be Hufflepuff's seeker. Their  _only_ seeker.

"No one could deny. Caught in act, you know."

Orion wanted to shake his head at seeing his old mate wink at the younger woman, but he restrained. It was merely Evan's usual self. He wanted a pet project for himself and a regular shag, and apparently he has found one.

"Unbelievable…" Miss Granger sighed in exasperation. "Surely, your  _ingenious_  weren't spent only in Quidditch?"

At that tone, Orion couldn't help but snort. What snark, the woman had. "Oh, believe me, Miss Graner. Evan had no difficulties passing his years. He was just not keen on excelling."

"Unlike you," Evan shot.

"Unlike me." Orion raised his glass at his mate. There was a comment Orion had missed the chance of clearing up, so he took the chance. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, Miss Granger. But, I might have seen that you were shocked to find out Evan and I were in the same year?"

Orion blinked to make sure that what he was seeing was right. Miss Granger blushed a pretty pink and dropped her gaze. Abruptly her hands were gathered in front of her, and it took a moment for her to meet back to Orion.

"Uh, well. I've had the impression that Mr. Rosier was my age. Two years give or take."

Evan roared with laughter. The git. Orion couldn't believe what hag was on his side for taking all the attention- compliments and interests alike.

"I apologize for disappointing you." Orion was nothing but truthful, if not only a tiny bit sarcastic.

The way Miss Granger's eyes opened a fraction indicated the woman followed up with his remarks.

"Been a long time since I heard you apologize, Orion. Your graduation year, wasn't it? Apologizing on behalf of your year, or something like that…"

Orion turned at Abraxas' voice. He and Abraxas were seated at the two ends of the table, the reason why the two had hardly conversed. Walburga had opted to sit next to Narcissa, who sat to Abraxas' right. Across the two, Lucius and Bella sat. The four of them had been talking about the wedding, Abraxas occasionally joining in. On the other hand, at Orion's each side sat Evan and Miss Granger who were fondly talking about Hogwarts.

Walburga had been four years Orion and Evan's senior, thus why she was disinterested in their memory sharing. Abraxas, however, had been a year below them, quite privy to the events of their graduation also.

"Being the Head Boy, I hardly had any choice with how a few fellow Slytherins had disgraced us."

There was a tense silence. At least until Walburga's shrill voice took the responsibility of worsening the situation.

"Might as well be the time…" she mumbled before adding: "Who is the Mudblood dining with us, darling? Surely, we could use some privacy while discussing  _family_  matters."

Orion might have let her disrespectfulness to their guest, Miss Granger, slide, if she had not went and stressed the word  _family_. It was about Evan again. The bitch had deserved it, everything he had done to her.

"Walburga."

Orion had thought his voice and the caution etched into it would relay his thoughts on the subject, and his  _tactful_ wife would just shut up, but-

"You never think about us. The Blacks should never stoop so low as to host and  _feed_  a Mud-"

"She is as pure as me and you." Orion was quick and definite with his answer. Walburga's mouth froze, shocked to his interference and revelation, surely.

Thankfully, the few moments of strained quite was quickly interrupted.

"Miss Granger, was it? I've heard of Dagworth-Granger. Any relative of yours?" Abraxas Malfoy's regal voice addressed to Miss Granger and Orion felt the tension ease.

He didn't leave his eyes from his wife's, and jutted his chin as to indicate the topic was not dropped, but he followed Abraxas' conversation nevertheless.

Turning his attention to Miss Granger, Orion saw her face brighten up at the inquiry.

"Oh, I never thought of that!" she exclaimed and as if she understood also that she came across as a lunatic if nothing else, she opted to explain. "Sorry. I never got the chance to explain… You see, my parents were Muggles as I grew up-" -Walburga's face contorted in disgust, and Orion could see that hers wasn't the only one from the corner of his eyes- "-and I went to Beauxbatons believing I was a Muggle-born. Turns out, I was adopted. I left that family immediately. They were hardly caring about me, anyway. I trailed my biological parents here, at last. Mr. Rosier and I came across the other day, and he was nothing but helpful."

"You two know each other?" Abraxas sent the question Orion's way after a pause. He had met the woman today, for Salazar's sake!

"It was the ward of the house, that's how Orion knew.  _Toujours Pur_ , as I recall?" Evan provided instead of him.

Orion nodded. "Miss Granger is a guest, before anything else."

"I understand," said Abraxas. "Well, if that's the case. I'm acquainted with one Arthur Dagworth-Granger, I can arrange a meeting, if you'd like."

Orion didn't miss the pink that spread across Miss Granger's cheeks, and the grateful smile she gave in Abraxas' way. It was ridiculous. Evan, Orion could understand. He was single, at least, and outright flirting with the woman. Abby was not someone she should blush at. It had been five years since he had lost his wife, but...

"If it's not too much trouble…" Miss Granger trailed, but it was a surprising person who answered.

Lucius Malfoy drawled: " _Please_ , nothing to mention. You  _cured_  Father from Dragon Pox, that's the least we can do to repay our debt."


	7. Chapter 7

It just had to happen at the very moment she had thought she couldn't be luckier. Abraxas Malfoy had presented the solution of her problems at a glittering, golden plate. Yes, Hermione could easily be a long-lost relative of the Dagworth-Grangers. Perhaps a Squib member had stolen her from the crib as a retaliation? Raising her as their muggle-born daughter.

Oh, but no. Lucius frigging Malfoy had to go and ruin everything for her.

Hermione didn't have the time to come up with a plan, the best of them entailed an Avada directed at a certain blonde man, so she found herself choking on her own spit.

Coughing, Hermione tried to compose herself. When she met with the challenging look on Lucius' face, her already red cheeks combusted. From anger, this time.

"Hah," Hermione found her way out at that moment. "Cure? Dragon Pox has no cure." She would play the idiot. What were the odds that people believed in Lucius?

And technically, there was no cure of Dragon Pox. It was 1972 for Merlin's sake!

Hermione jutted her chin and collected her confidence. She had to sound convincing. "I'm flattered that you know that I'm a Healer, but it would be a miracle to proposition such thing."

That was the distraction.

"You are a Healer?" echoed Lord Black's voice. Hermione was the last one among the table to shift so that they faced the host. She took long enough to cast a soundless silencing charm on Lucius. It was Muffliato for better measures, a spell not yet invented; she didn't want Lucius reversing the spell anytime soon.

"Well, yes. I had to earn my living somehow, claim a place in the wizarding society in France." Hermione was actually quite proud of herself and how she made up everything as the words poured out of her mouth. Harry would have loved to witness this. It was fifth year, luring Umbridge to the Centaurs all over again. "Had to quit my training during my higher education halfway through though. New law in France about Muggle-borns and later on my birth circumstances, unfortunately."

Nobody commented on that, for obvious reasons. Just when Hermione thought the silence would suffocate her, she jumped out of her shoes at the abrupt scrape of chair on the floor. Lucius had got to his feet.

All of the eyes drawn to him, he circled around the dinner table and offered Hermione his hand. His burning gaze was clear with his intention. Hermione wasn't going to be ravaged in some deserted corridor, trapped between him and the wall.

Lucius silently asked for a private word. She wasn't going to get murdered either, but never get your hopes up.

So, follow him?

Hermione was disappointed that she had come across as  _that_ much of an idiot.

"Mr. Malfoy-" she was going to say something about how she was feeling ill, but Lucius gave her no such chance. His free hand clutched at his cane, in which Hermione knew his wand was. An obvious threat, it definitely was. It would be really stupid of her to assume Lucius Malfoy incapable of casting soundless spells.

With that in mind, it was easier to come to a decision.

"Excuse me," Hermione announced to the table. "I had promised Mr. Malfoy-"

"Oh, that unfinished business you two were going to talk about!" Mr. Rosier exclaimed all of a sudden. "I had interrupted the two of them earlier today at Gringotts. Better give them some privacy."

Clapping his hand, Rosier was just about to change the subject, but Lord Black called on his elf. "Would you ask for Sirius to accompany Miss Granger? He can give her a tour of the house afterwards."

The last thing Hermione saw was the pop of the elf as Lucius dragged her out of the dining room. The door closed behind Rosier's voice: "Narcissa, darling, when is the wedding?"

* * *

"I don't like him," Sirius declared, his chin pointing at Lucius Malfoy. Arms gathered, he really looked protective of Hermione, the suspicious and cautious glare was right there too. "At all."

"I still need to talk to him." Hermione didn't want to have a second person to Obliviate. "Please."

Sirius didn't face her but he paid attention. He was considering. Hermione couldn't believe that gaining young Sirius Black's liking could be against her as was at this moment.

"Father said-"

Oh, Hermione was not going to have  _that_. Sirius Black was never one to obey instructions, especially sat by his parents.

"We both know that is not the issue here," Hermione whined. "If you don't tell your father anything, he wouldn't know to start with."

"Miss Hermione, you're playing hard."

At that Malfoy scoffed and thumped his cane on the floor. He was as impatient as Hermione to get rid of Sirius. Something in common for them.

"Alright, alright. For five minutes. Promise me a date, then, Miss Hermione." Sirius looked directly at her now. A bemused smile stretching his lips. "We have a Hogsmeade weekend at the second week of March. Saturday. I'll buy you a Butterbeer."

"Ten minutes," Hermione bargained. "I'll find you if I'm early."

Sirius shrugged.

The moment he turned around, though, everything happened so fast. Malfoy and Hermione both drew their wands, Malfoy sending a rather powerless Knock-back jinx that would have been probably followed up by a Stupefy.

Hermione deflected all, a vase shattering in process, and she sent a Petrificus Totalus at the man.

Sirius had jumped around to see, and wasn't disappointed when he saw Hermione's wand pointing at a fallen Lucius Malfoy.

"Wow," he gasped. "You-"

"I said ten."

Hermione waited him to leave, and only then did she reverse the Muffliato and the full-body-bind.

"What in the name of Merlin-"

Hermione repositioned her wand and the words died at Malfoy's throat.

"Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, one good reason not to Obliviate you."

Hermione observed as a look of understanding sparked at his blue eyes. He didn't seem panicked, instead, anger twisted his features into an ugly frown.

"You scum, how dare you! You did that to father! You will pay for it-"

"Had your chance."

"NO- WAIT!"

Hermione stalled at the wand movements, and the obvious yellow light of Obliviate spell died down immediately.

"How did you do it?"

It took Hermione a few moment to understand what Lucius Malfoy was referring to. "Cure your father?"

Slowly, but surely, he nodded.

"Does it matter?" Hermione replied. She doubted Lucius Malfoy was curious, but at the topic of his father's well-being, he didn't seem by far pleased.  _Don't tell me…_  "You wanted him dead."

"Smart thing," he murmured but his cold gaze never left hers. What did he want to hear, that she was sorry?

"Why?" she asked out of curiosity.

Silence.

_Great._ She had become foolishly optimistic.

"My bad," Hermione mumbled. In what kind of dimension any Malfoy would amiably chat with her, anyway? She just needed the information on the diary and a means to acquire it. Also Obliviate Lucius while she was at it.

Patience, Hermione Granger could reserve for Lucius Malfoy. She could count days until Voldemort's demise and watch the Malfoys get locked in Azkaban after his fall. She needn't interfere; there had to be a miracle for the Malfoys to have a different fate. They were destined to fall with Voldemort.

"Legilimens."

* * *

Orion didn't like the current situation. As he glared at the two empty seats at the table, he reasoned to stay calm. What good would it do to strangle Lucius Malfoy upon their return?

Miss Granger shouldn't have agreed to go with him.  _Unfinished business his arse._  If not for the obvious reasons that Orion prayed Malfoy junior would not  _dare_  in his house with such a public call on the girl, the only option was that Miss Granger would find herself in an unwanted position.

Orion coughed at that last thought. He had meant something in the lines of threatening and curses on Malfoy juniors part. Not… Nothing like  _that_.

Their leave was inappropriate.

That's why Orion had called Sirius. He had taken the job of being a chaperone anyway, what would one more lady be?

"Somethin' up, mate?" Evan asked as Orion's wine glass touched his lips.

He gulped before answering. "No, nothing…"

"Alright." Evan seemed not convinced but he didn't press. Instead, he turned to face him, blocking out all the wedding chat, he whispered, "The Dark Lord returns to the continent. Next week we'll have a meeting, and it's on the table if you'd like to join."

Orion had listened to Evan with his own eyes locked at his glass.

He had said many times to his old friend that he was not keen on this pursuit. There had to be something done about the Muggleborns, and the Muggles should be stopped before they simply infiltrated to the wizards' lands and society. That's why the Blacks had thought in favor of the Statue of Secrecy back in the time, unlike the Malfoys.

However, superiority over Muggles was a different aim. It sounded alluring even to Orion, but it was simply  _distasteful_ , what the Death Eaters were upto lately.

Protecting their own should be more important. Muggleborns were not one of them, thus why there had been intervention. But reaching to the Muggles? Exiling those who lived alongside them? By use of Unforgivables and other vile curses even? If they were lucky, at least.

There was a Muggle family gone missing one or two months back. It had made it into the Prophet because the son had alerted the Aurors. A muggleborn who had returned home for Christmas to find his parents gone. Orion knew. For some reason and somehow he did.

This was insane.

Where it lead, Orion could guess even now, was simply out of option. Also, it wouldn't do his hotel business any good. Mayhem and destruction were not friends with business.

"Evan, my decision is final." Orion hadn't confided his friend in his own reasoning, or the precautions he took just in case, like initiating a permanent branching-out of the Melanie hotels in Italy, Sweden and Turkey. "I have my own business to care about."

Evan sighed. "You think too small, mate. You will miss your chance and the Brits will spit you out. Your name won't be enough when everything changes, you know."

Orion had listened to this countless times. He was aware that there was going to be a change. He hoped not to be around for it.

Walburga could stay, though.

"Excuse me." Lucius Malfoy's voice was heard. Orion took notice how Miss Granger was absent.

The question, unfortunately, must have been clear in his eyes. Malfoy junior smirked, all too happy with himself. Orion didn't like this one bit.

"Young Sirius is giving her a tour as you wished, Lord Black."

Orion stared impassively at the young gentlemen for some time before deciding that he would not let his temper flare. Mocking him, eh? Malfoy junior would have a surprise, eventually.

"Splendid. He should make our guest feel welcome," Evan replied instead of Orion. Orion tightly smiled at his friend, knowing that Evan understood his true gratitude.

Walburga, though, felt the need to huff and comment: "She isn't, though. If she comes back to the table, I swear I will walk out. Already have to get her Mudblood trace from my favorite furniture."

Orion grasped his glass tighter and gulped down once more.

* * *

Hermione shouldn't have been distracted as such. It hadn't been her own fault, it was Sirius, during their tour, who had brought them to this vast study room where a whole wall was donned with a tapestry with the family tree of the Blacks.

Hermione should have gone back to the table, conversed with Malfoy Sr. and agree on a date that she could meet with that Arthur Dagworth-Granger.

Instead, she stood by the tapestry, shocked out of her wits just as much if not more as young Sirius Black.

The pair of them stared at Hermione's name on the tapestry, connected to Sirius' own. There was no wife to speak of, no nothing, just a thin line that shot out from Sirius' name to write Hermione's. It looked as though she was his daughter.

Technically she was.

"So, I guess, that Hogsmeade date would be inappropriate."

Hermione didn't have in her to laugh at his joke. She honestly would have, but at the moment, it felt like all of her plans had crushed down at her. What was she going to say? Sirius was thirteen for Godric's sake! It was absurd for him to have a daughter twice his age, if any daughter at all!

Oh, Hermione had been altering the timeline, but she had thought nobody would ever know her time traveling in the end. She hadn't Obliviated both of the Malfoys for nothing!

"I can explain," Hermione blurted out all of a sudden. She was reluctant to draw out her wand. The Malfoys were one thing, but to aim her wand at Sirius? She couldn't. She wouldn't.

The diary. The ring. The cup, diadem, locket.

She would do anything to destroy them. She had to. The future would not be the same this time. It would be better.

"Well, a nice long explanation could do wonders-"

But Hermione never had the chance to give Sirius the due explanation. The door to the study room was opened and Orion Black had entered inside.

"Son, you were here?" Hermione took notice that the man had his unwavering gaze on her instead of his son. "Your mother asks for you."

Recognizing a clear dismissal, Sirius left, surprisingly without any protests.

It took Hermione a few moments to separate her eyes from the door, then focus at Lord Black. He was looking at her with an unmistakable attention, what was he searching, she had no idea. She was just grateful that his eyes hadn't landed on the Tapestry.

She had to get rid of it. Hide her name from there, or optimally wipe it away.

"Lord Black?" Hermione asked while taking a few steps towards him. She walked just so that he slowly shifted at her motion, his back now to the tapestry. That was a start. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

At that his eyes flashed and Hermione wanted to kick herself for realizing his metallic grey eyes as of themoment were quite striking. However, what the man had momentarily got angry about, she had no idea. He was angry alright, those thinned lips and furrowed brows were indication of nothing else.

"Are you hurt?" his own question came. Hermione was miffed that he ignored what she had asked, but opted to clear her confusion before else.

"Hurt? Why would I be?"

Lord Black pinched the bridge of his nose and Hermione somewhat heard when he whispered about how witches tried his patience. "...great Salazar."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Mr. Malfoy," Lord Black started suddenly. For the first time being explanatory. "If he's been in any way indecent-"

"Towards me?" Hermione couldn't help but let out a good laugh at that. Had that been his concern? Lucius Malfoy coming on to her? He would sooner kill himself -no, kill her than get intimate with her.

"He wouldn't breathe the same air with a Muggleborn if he can help it," she declared.

"You speak as if you are," Lord Black intervened. Her laugh dying at his cold tone. "If you are a Muggleborn?"

Oh, Hermione had the distinct feeling the man hadn't used the derogatory term as he would have liked.

"What if I am?" Hermione asked, dismissing the whole warding of the house and her adoption aside. She was a Muggleborn. And she would challenge anyone in  _anytime_. Her blood aflame, it occurred to her to at least not blow away her cover story this quickly. "Not like I know whom my parents are. I could very well be a Muggleborn. What is the harm at that? They are not different. They are as magical as any witch or wizard."

Hermione held her breath, truthfully. She shouldn't have artlessly ventured to the nature of Lord Black's beliefs. She could gain an enemy in the blink of an eye. She had scraped away from the wrath of the Malfoys barely. Obliviate wasn't a miracle spell she should depend on when she screwed up.

Searching for any reaction from the wizard, Hermione patiently waited. With each second it felt like the room became smaller and the tension rose. Finally, when she thought he was about to snap, Lord Black sighed in an excruciatingly slow manner, and then he opted to pace the room.

She prayed every time he faced the Tapestry, he would not  _see_. She had to do something about that. Immediately.

* * *

Orion had lost it. What the witch saying was absurd! She- she was among the purest, having stepped foot in his house! He had renewed the wards himself!

Orion halted, both his pacing and thoughts.

Taking a moment to collect himself, without looking at her, he spoke, "You can't deny the future looks bleak for the Muggleborns for obvious reasons."

"Deny?"

Orion ignored her rude interference and continued. "There are facts about how they can't be a part of our society, and you must know better than anyone that there are those who are acting on it. Why consider yourself among them?"

Curious as to her answer, Orion Black turned slightly back to glance at her.

"I believe you misunderstood me, Lord Black. If proven otherwise, those precious  _facts_  you mentioned, can crumble down just as easily."

He creased his brows at that, obviously formulating an answer as to what nonsense she was talking about.

However, for Hermione, it was the truth. She would make Tom Riddle mortal again and end him. Publicly. As to not leave any argument to say blood supremacy is nothing but bullshite. And thus, those facts would indeed crumble down.

"I'm overusing your hospitality, I'm afraid. Perhaps I should take my leave."

The witch's strained voice came, and Orion Black who, only a moment ago, had been ready to leave her on her own, suddenly didn't wish her to be so eager to get away. Their conversation had struck a delicate topic, but the witch seemed to have an interesting opinion on it. More like, Miss Granger was actually  _plotting_  something.

Searching for her determined amber eyes, he nodded.  _Plotting, indeed._

Orion cleared his throat, though. He had no excuse to keep her here. "If you wish."

He cast away a sudden urge to pull her to him, get his hand tangled up in those curls, and devour her pretty lips. Right there and then. He could admit now that he had been thinking about it ever since she set foot in his house.

It had been so long since he had felt this close to  _acting_  on such urges.

It was easy to be repelled from woman in general when Walburga was the core representative of the gender for him. The few he had prior to his marriage had been no better to make him prefer them over his solitude.

Managing the frustration of his needs has become nothing unfamiliar, Orion thought in bitter defeat.

Clearing his fogged mind, he opted to do as the witch asked.

"My eldest son would be happy to escort you out, Miss Granger, as he has been having a splendid time eavesdropping on us." Orion watched the confusion spread on the witch's face. Then, her raised eyebrows said, ' _Really?_ ' and Orion couldn't help but smirk at her bewilderment. What did she think? That he wouldn't have noticed.

But when the witch smiled fondly and peeked behind him, he understood that she was actually jovially pleased at his son's antics, rather than Orion's marvelous awareness of the situation.

"I was just on my way to the drawing room, Mum asked nothing in particular," his son's voice came. The feigned innocence was so tell-tale that Orion wondered how his own son could be so unlike him. He reminded him of his mother at such occasions. Melania Black had always been generous with her emotions. A trait she had passed to her grandson she never had the chance to meet. Or would ever, for that matter.

Orion sighed. "The past ten minutes, son? Please. I expect more effort from you."

Orion had tried to be somewhat joking, but his voice came out harsher. He realized this when he saw Sirius' eyes darken and his cheeks tint with pink. The usual tense silence, however, didn't occur.

"Lord Black?"

The young woman's lively voice snapped his head back at her. "Yes?"

There had been an echo to Orion's reply though.

Noticing Miss Granger's eyes switching from his son to him, Orion took notice of the inside joke that Miss Granger and his son were both grinning from ear to ear. It had only been one dinner, and she had his son around her little finger.

"Father?"

Orion turned to his name being called and thus, while the three of them were at the mouth of the doors, he didn't notice Hermione flicking her wand in the direction of the Tapestry.

He had been too busy looking at her face previously to follow how she had unsheathed her wand, to begin with.

"Yes, Regulus?"

Before his younger son could talk though, he felt a slight touch on his forearm that drew his attention.

"Thank you for the lovely dinner, Lord Black. It was nice meeting you."

His elder son whisked away the pretty witch before he could reply, the two whispering each other Merlin knows what on their way out.


	8. Chapter 8

It was one unlucky news after another. A curt letter from Malfoy Sr. had come two weeks ago. It wrote that his acquaintance Arthur Dagworth-Granger had deceased unbeknownst to Malfoy Sr. while he had been hospitalized. He wrote his apologies in aiding her and bid her the best of luck as the Dagworth-Grangers had no other living relatives in England.

That wasn't a news as devastating as the following she received. If she looked from the upside, it was actually fortunate. She could search for the Dagworth-Granger family records and forge herself as a relative, solving her ancestral problem once and for all.

The next news coming from Mr. Evan Rosier had been truly unlucky, if she had to admit. The man had taken a liking to her obviously, and in his letter he wrote how he'd be delighted if she could attend to an official ball of the Ministry as his companion. He gave excuses how it might shed some light on her pure ancestry, get her the answers she rightfully required.

It hadn't been in Hermione's mind to be in the spotlight. She had thought she would act out alone, taking down one Horcrux after another, and once Voldemort had fallen, she would either leave the country or hide in the outskirts to die a lonely death. Peaceful. Content with how she had changed the world.

So yes, she didn't feel much overjoyed that Lord Rosier was keen on having her around. It was worse in the way that being the occasion a Ministry event, she would have to heed in cautious grounds so that she didn't unnecessarily comment on something that had yet to happen. She had a big mouth, and she knew herself well.

On the other hand, it was a nice opportunity to have an idea of the power balances among the Ministry people and the aristocrats. She begrudgingly accepted Rosier's offer, in the end. Dread pooling in her stomach at the thought of how that night would play out.

Hermione would have thought all hope was lost if it weren't for the final owl she had received last week, thus why she was at this well-stocked library as right now.

The cinnamon screech owl that had tapped on her window at the tiny room she rented, gave her the best news of the recent days. It was from the Potters. They had replied to her request of perusing their library for academic research.

It was a short letter that mainly said a meeting could be arranged to further talk about the prospect of having her over. Euphemia Potter and she had met at a small cafe in Diagon Alley two days later, introducing each other, and Hermione literally  _begging_  for Mrs. Potter to consent her visit.

Hermione talked about why she needed access to their library. She mentioned her unknown heritage and possibly looking through pureblood records if they had any. Mrs. Potter replied to that with a huff, saying that Ministry records would aid her better.

After that, however, when Hermione mentioned her research on Dark Curses and their counter-curses, Mrs. Potter's curiosity was peaked. Hermione had explained how she was a Healer, had to drop her higher education due to unfortunate circumstances in France, but was keen on pursuing her research. Hermione detailed how she had been looking into Cruciatus Curse and its side-effects, possible cures to the eventual madness the victims fell to. That and the madness that consumed the caster of the Fiendfyre Curse. The last part, she had fabricated on spot, but the rest was her personal research from her original time. That's why it had been easy to explain all these and her findings to Mrs. Potter over tea.

When at last, Hermione had added the small set-back of her not having her credentials and official research information transferred upon her haste departure, as a result how she had no source she could venture during her stay in England, Mrs. Potter gave in and gladly offered her access to their library.

They had agreed on today for her arrival. Euphemia Potter introduced his husband, Flemont, to Hermione when she arrived. Both Potters amiably chatted with her while walking her over to the library.

After saying that she could call a house-elf -Jibby- if she was in need of anything, they left her to her own devices. Once, Euphemia had dropped by to ask her to stay over for dinner, but beside that Hermione had been alone, rigorously researching the Fiendfyre Curse.

Thank Merlin she had found two useful books that detailed the casting and wand movements; the second book she found even included a few warding spells that could help her safely practice. The only concerning bit was about how she had to "reach for the darkness" which was quite an ambiguous instruction, and quite short for her liking, thus why further research followed.

By the time Jibby popped in the library to announce the dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes, Hermione had branched out more than her initial research topic. She had quickly skimmed over the copy of McGonagall's favorite book, even, having come across it amidst the shelves.

_Unleash of Within: Guide of Animagi Transformation_  was a book McGonagall had mentioned of having as her bedside reading. The late Headmistress had never let Hermione barrow her book, unfortunately. When Hermione had eventually found it in the Hogwarts library in her sixth year, she had been disappointed. It was only barely more detailed than their Defense Against the Dark Arts school book.

However, now, holding an edition Hermione suspected that McGonagall used to posses, she understood why her old Transfiguration professor held the book dear. This edition of it was more intriguing as it had a few darker spells and potions that aided during the transformation of a struggling witch or wizard. It was painstakingly detailed as how a trance state could be achieved to unlock the magical core, and there were further instructions to how to make the process more efficient and quicker.

The Ministry in her time must have had something to do about the content of the book, another reason why Animagi were rare instances back in her old time.

Hermione had to close the book, though. Not only because of realizing that she was getting distracted, but because it was time for dinner. It would be rude to make the Potters wait.

"Sorry for making you wait," Hermione apologized as she got herself seated. "I didn't notice how the time flew by."

"Happens to all of us," Lord Potter commented with a big smile on his face. "My Euphemia prefers spending time shopping, instead, though."

He snorted at the side eyes his wife gave to him. Euphemia Potter smiled away the humorous jab. "Hush, we have a guest. Tell us, Miss Granger, was your reading any helpful?"

"It was really helpful. Thank you again for sharing your archives, it is well collected and the edition of the books are even the more precious! Rare tomes, most of them. I'm grateful that I have the chance to read through them."

Then on, Hermione briefed Mrs. Potter on her progress. She, of course, omitted the Fiendfyre part, but Mrs. Potter was fascinated with the rest regardless. Her research topic was forgotten, however, when Hermione mistakenly mentioned about a new technique she could possible test while brewing the sadiating potion given to the Curicio victims.

Flement Potter, the infamous potioneer, most talented of his century even, jumped at the mention of his subject and the two of them further discussed potions in depth. Hermione had always been more of the recipe-follower type of student in her Hogwarts years, and her meticulous work always resulted in a perfect potion by the book, but after her experience with the Half-blood Prince, she was more indulgent with her creativity.

She had always utilized that new venture of hers in Charms rather than Potions though, but it was not as though she couldn't hold a conversation with Mr. Potter. Hermione Granger was a well-versed witch. In every subject.

Their stimulating potion discussion, however, was interrupted by the hoot of an owl. Hermione heard the familiar flap of wings and the cinnamon screech owl perched Mrs. Potter's shoulder consequently.

"Letter at this hour?" Mrs. Potter exchanged the letter for a treat from the table, and the cinnamon owl Hermione decided that was cool and distant, curtly flew away after getting his duty done. "It's from James…"

At the mention of the name, Hermione's heart lept. She anxiously observed the Potters. They both had a slight crease at their brows, Hermione could guess out of concern.

Mrs. Potter exhaled. Her voice stranded, she talked, "The first exams weren't spectacular, he writes. I can't believe my small boy struggles in his third year." As if remembering that there was a stranger dining with them Mrs. Potter kindly elaborated, "I can't console him as I used to. He is so far away. I used to tutor him myself, so I know my precious boy needs a more attentive instructor, not to say professors in Hogwarts are anything but, but it is not the same. My son, James, doesn't have much self-discipline when it comes to classes."

Mr. Potter held his wife's hand and squeezed. They reassuringly smiled at each other. He added, "James is the best Quidditch player, however. Chaser in the Gryffindor Quidditch team two years in a row. He is brilliant when it comes to that, never lost a match."

Hermione saw the resemblance of the father and son right away. Harry had been similar. Not that he was outright awful at classes, but he passed by. Nothing compared to his Quidditch skills, too. And perhaps, James Potter could pass swimmingly if he received a nudge like Hermione used to give Harry. She was confident that James Potter wasn't failing every class.

"Which classes, lessons I mean, does he struggle with?"

The question took the Potters both by surprise. Hermione explained, "I could perhaps help? There are many books in your library, some of them different from Hogwarts, and I could gather notes, makes copies of chapters that could help young Mr. Potter and perhaps even write down a schedule? I don't mean no offence, but my student years are fresh in mind. And I don't see no better way to repay your kindness of letting me peruse your library."

There was a stunned silence. Hermione tried again.

"If you could name the lessons, I can prepare in an hour or so. I hope I wouldn't be overstaying your welcome, but I promise it wouldn't take long."

It was Mrs. Potter who collected herself first. Hermione hadn't missed the awed glint in her eyes that quickly faded away.

"Transfiguration, Potion and Charms."

Hermione most nearly snorted. James Potter couldn't be more predictable. Perhaps it was because Hermione was long-time best friend of his son, but he was truly see through.

James Potter's need in Transfiguration was most probably because of extracurricular reasons. How could he focus on his lessons while attempting to become Animagi?

In her mind, Hermione checked two books to help his third year Transfiguration lessons and even McGonagall's book.

For Charms it was probably to impress one Lily Evans. Hermione thought the young Marauder's feeling of being inadequate in the subject was merely because he desperately wanted to show off to the witch he fancied.

And lastly for potions… Perhaps it was genetic that he couldn't grasp the subject. Something he had passed on to Harry, but had not inherited from his father.

Hermione already knew the title of the books she was going to skim through and make copies of the chapters.

Hermione excused herself from the table, "I'll submit the notes to you ready for owling at your convenience. Thank you for the lovely dinner."

Hermione didn't see the look the Potters exchanged. They had been reluctant of letting the young woman use their library at first, but now, they were outright suspicious as to her intentions. These were not the times that kindness of such level were received in open arms.

* * *

Lucius hated the headache that worsened the past week. It was damn irritating. He needn't another reason to make his business meetings even the more taxing on his nerves. Usually, the nagging of his consultants would have been enough. Nowadays, because of his father's meddling, even they were more than enough.

But, no, there had to be a headache that felt not unlike his skull being hammered down, to make everything worse.

Lucius dropped his hand that had been massaging his temple. "Father has bought the potions manufacturers? All of them in Britain?"

"All of the small ones, sir. He's set to monopolize the potion industry. As I understand, once the bigger companies are cornered, they will sell their shares and Lord Malfoy will be waiting to buy them out."

There was a silence which his consultant waited for a reaction from Lucius. When none came, he added, "Lord Malfoy is preying on them, sir."

Lucius wanted to laugh. Of course, his father was! For what reason, Lucius couldn't fathom. They had enough Galleons to buy every company anyway. Why bother? To reduce cost, that is.

Oh, but the exhilaration, that was what his father replied him with the next day. Something along the lines anyway.

It was more miserable to watch his father's press-conference on his recent business proceedings, so Lucius felt he should not be surprised. When the question had strayed to his health, his old man had outright declared that he was so superior with his magic that the reason for his curation of the definitely fatal Dragon Pox disease had been due to his Malfoy ancestry and purity alone.

If Lucius knew the old coot to be not an imbecile senile old man, he would have agreed with him more. Yes, the Malfoys had noone to compare to their pure roots and firm magic, but Abraxas Malfoy was a delirious and incapable man overall.

He was bad mouthing the Dark Lord, ceasing their support and spending money on useless and unrelated trivialities… Potion manufacturing? What. A. Joke.

Lucius seethed with anger at the thought of his father's explanation to his health. It was incomprehensible that Abraxas Malfoy had recovered solely because of his magic, even though that appeared to be the case.

It didn't sit right with Lucius, but he came up empty-handed whenever he wrecked his mind for another solution.

His headaches worsened in those very moments.

Lucius eventually let go of the subject. It did little benefit for his own well-being, and he wished nothing else but to be at the peak of his health for his wedding. That was the only occasion he looked forward to in the near future.

Even the visit of their Dark Lord brought anxiety to him, with how the Malfoys relation was stranded and there had been no response from their Lord as of right now.

Lucius opted to think about his beautiful fiancee, instead. Even the thought of her pretty eyes and mischievous smirk twitched his cock and the prospect of feeling her soft body against his at their wedding night brought euphoria to his troubled mind.

The few snogs he had stolen from her in the passings promised a heated night and he was very much looking for to it.

Narcissa Black was the best thing that happened to him. Lucius would never regret seducing her and fixing her deranged elder sister, Bellatrix, to Rod instead. Lucius would feel a tinge of guilt over his mate, but it was fair play. LeStrange wanted the girl.

Those were how his days were spent. Lucius would count down days till the wedding, proudly have Narcissa on his arm during events as his fiance and not meddle with any detail of the wedding himself.

Lucius was aware how Narcissa's aunt, Walburga Black, involved herself with the wedding and that it led to some disagreements with his fiance. However, never once had it turned into an argument. Lucius had a feeling that his fiance got arrangements covered behind Mrs. Black's back, but he didn't comment on it.

The wedding would be held in the Malfoy Manor, thus why his Narcissa was here in a growing frequency. What Lucius didn't understand was why Mrs. Black was present as regularly.

Lucius' father would lock himself to his study whenever Mrs. Black came, which Lucius could understand, but he always grudged at his poor manners.

His father was indeed losing his charms and status as the Lord Malfoy.

It was early to introduce  _himself_  as the Lord Malfoy, though, Lucius knew. It was a strong urge to do so, especially in the Ministry gatherings.

The last Lucius and Narcissa attended, he had nearly slipped.

Lord Evan Rosier had been in the earshot and quick to comment on it. The witch on his arm was pretty. Her golden dress robes were nothing in comparison to the confidence she wore. Her shoulders were squared, jaw tilted high, and a knowing spark in her eyes never leaving even once during her conversation with someone from the Ministry. Something about Werewolves, he had gathered in tidbits.

Lucius couldn't entirely eavesdrop because he couldn't help but scrutinize the witch. He knew her, but from where? Her silky hair flowed on one shoulder, brown with honey-coloured streaks. Her amber eyes were distinct, not a feature Lucius would forget.

"You remember Miss Granger?" Lord Rosier introduced her finally when she managed to separate herself from her conversation with the Deputy Head of Law Enforcement.

And that's when it clicked. She was the woman that had come to the dinner at Blacks. Lord Black's house in Grimmauld Place.

"Of course," Lucius said with a smile. He had not interacted with her much, but it wouldn't hurt to pretend otherwise.

Fortunately, Narcissa filled the space with pleasantries and eventually farewells.

Lucius didn't think about Miss Granger until today. It had been a week since the Ministry event.

It was the same dream - no,  _memory,_  as he had decided- over and over again. Lucius knew, this was the actual reason for his chronic headache. He never slept well. He always pondered about the memory, its origin and what it ment.

The memory was strong, in the way that it was so vivid that it felt like you lived it.

Lucius could smell the smoke, charing, death and despair. He could sense the hold-of-breath, that stillness, horror mixed with anticipation and the moment of bifurcation. There was no mistaking to the dread that filled his stomach, weighing him down like tons of bricks.

He heard his own voice quite clear, although it was raspy and scared. Unsure. So unlike him.

"Draco?" he called out in the memory. Lucius would spot himself among a crowd, across the yard. Although in ruins, he could recognize Hogwarts anywhere.

There came no answer, just the dry wind that was almost like a slap to his cheek. Then, he would hear someone else from next to him call out the same name.

He would shift his eyes to look at the woman his memory-self had in a desperate embrace. Platinum blonde streaks to her dark brown hair, the same gray eyes but harsher, lifeless. Lucius would recognize Narcissa anywhere. She looked rather... _older_ , but still.

"He's dead, you know,*" came an answer eventually.

This short sentence was engraved to Lucius' mind. The dreamy voice so surreal, a contradiction as it immediately caused a feeling of immense panic and terror in Lucius when he recalled the memory after waking up. But when he was living it as a dream, he only felt sadness. He mourned. And surprisingly, looking at his memory-self and Narcissa, he pitied them. Such foreign emotions for Lucius...

The memory flowed really faster after that. The clock on slow-motion was recharged and there was no stop to it- not to the green spell that shot, also.

It was because Narcissa had cried out. She had screamed profanities so not matching to her proper upbringing. "It's because of you! You did this to my child. You killed him. You are a faux, a liar, a filthy half-blood blinded by power, and fucking  _crowned_  with insanity. Yes, that's all you are. A leader to the maniacs and lunatics. You are nothing else. NOTHING."

It was  _Avada Kedavra_ that had silenced her.

Lucius would watch in the memory as his memory-self's knees buckled and he chanted Narcissa name in denial.

Lucius awoke with that last scene in mind, calling for Narcissa name. This Merlin-cursed memory was why he was sleeping less and less, and why that headache never cleared away.

Lucius has had this nightmare a month now. Only recently he had decided it to be a memory, but it was today that he was sure it was a one.

Upon acquaintance with Miss Granger last week something had clicked. Only now, he had finally understood.

He recalled the dinner with the Blacks last month and how he and Miss Granger have had a private conversation.

The details were hazy but Lucius was confident how he had possession of this memory. He was a skilled Occlumens for a reason, after all.

He had warded away this very memory, he realized after sorting through his own mind and cataloguing the recent past. It was sealed with no relation to that particular witch, but this was the basic trick of warding certain memories against Legilimency. Since it obviously was a memory, albeit not his own, conclusion was that he had acquired it himself.

If one was a poor Legilimens like Lucius, the only way one could properly steal a memory was during an attack to their own mind.

How he connected Miss Granger to his assailant was a mistake on her part. Miss Granger had foolishly prickled at his mind while she thought Lucius to be distracted during his conversation with Lord Rosier.

She had continued her venture in his mind, even. He had let her.

Yes, that was what had happened. As Lucius swirled his Firewhiskey that he was gulping down to not be disturbed by both his headache and the memory, he gave no possibility that the witch was powerful enough of a Legilimens to brush around in his mind without trace.

Because after she had access, Lucius wasn't sure of her proceedings. She had been nearly non-existent in his mind, which was discorcerning at the very best.

Whatever the circumstance, Lucius was positive about one thing. The witch had underestimated him. One month ago, she had used Legilimency on him during which he had stolen this memory from her, and last week she had tried it again, for whatever reason Lucius didn't know. Miss Granger was no innocent witch. It had taken a week for Lucius to solve this out, but now he knew for certain Miss Granger had played his mind, thinking that he would not notice.

A mistake she shouldn't have done.

_Just as the mistake Narcissa had done in the memory_. Lucius' focus turned back to the memory again.  _It cost her life._

But was it a mistake, really?

Drowning in loathing at the memory that had Narcissa dying in his arms, Lucius opened another bottle of Firewhiskey and postponed dealing with Miss Granger to another time.

Soon, though. It would be soon.

* * *

 

**Hello,**

**Excuse any mistakes you might spot. Again, I'm favoring sleep and posting instead of proofreading.**

**I hope you like it!**

**"He's dead, you know.*" I used this very same sentence in another story that I recently removed, the scene is below if you wish to read it. But if not for Narcissa, it is the same scene I pictured while writing the memory in this chapter. It is the Lucius Malfoy I imagine this young version of him will grow into if his son were to die in the War, my characterization of him anyway. The whole idea was that this young version of Lucius experiences (although from another person's perspective) one tenth of that sorrow priorly (why the firewhiskey etc) and this will eventually lead to... I BETTER HUSH.**

* * *

"He's dead, you know." The dreamy voice carried till the furthest of the grounds. There was no sorrow in it, no remorse. It sounded surprised instead, as if to say, 'How come you don't know?'.

Lucius blinked, slowly raising his gaze to meet with a blond girl. Having only concentrated on his own breathing, in and out, slowly, no matter his dry and hurting throat, Lucius barely registered her. He saw the blur of colour: the warm gold of her hair and magenta of her clothes. She was a drastic contrast to the gray of the surrounding. Much different than her statement.

Nearly everyone was dead. So why would Draco be an exception?

His heir. His Draco. His  _son_.

Lucius didn't know what to think. Just then, the last intact part of his sanity had cracked, he knew.

Failing his family, Lucius had confronted with in the long days of being a guest in his own dungeons. The cloud over his judgement had been the thickest two years back, at the fiasco of the Department of Mysteries. The path his late father had agreed him into had given the second most destructive blow that day -the first Lucius had barely handled with excuses of being Imperiused after the Wizarding War. His fruitless ambition had vanished upon returning to the Manor after his failure, the Dark Lord having ordered his break-out of Azkaban. He had learned his son had taken the Mark in his absence and shouldered responsibility over their family, and that, Lucius' heart sored with shame only now.

He had done this to his family. Cissa had become a puppet of a hostess to the Dark Lord. Draco a means, a simple toy, to break-into Hogwarts to crumble the fortress from the inside. His son had also been planned to be the public face who assassinated Dumbledore.

All had sounded different to Lucius before. It had been a second chance. The Malfoys would have had the chance to be in the Dark Lord's good graces. The Dark Lord staying in the Manor, being their guest of honor, meant he still valued them. The Malfoys would have a prominent place in the new world to be constructed- all these, Lucius had thought and craved for.

The days spent after his return from Azkaban had showed him otherwise.

It was small things at first. How he was given potions and recommended to rest instead of attending the meetings of the Inner Circle. How Lucius was asked to give minor privileges of shifting the wards, enabling access to those Lucius would never deem worthy, or completely giving the regulations of such matters to a trusted man of the Dark Lord. Someone other than Lucius. Someone not Malfoy. Someone whom Lucius would relent to without much commotion. It was his brother-in-law. Rabastan LeStrange.

He had never misjudged the hungry glint to Rabastan's eyes, the man had always been after name and standing, but by that point, Lucius' hands were tied. Under the Dark Lord's supervision, he dared not to get a toe out of line.

He had once. Got a toe out of line, that was. Lucius had been enraged by the prospect of giving away the privileges of being the Lord Malfoy to LeStrange. Minor the privileges they might have been, but the man was not worthy of them by any means. He had pleaded the Dark Lord, spat callous words in LeStrange's way and explained how no one but a Malfoy could serve the Dark Lord better.

'Do you doubt my decision?' the Dark Lord had said, and the next thing he knew was that Lucius was deafened by Cissa's screams. He held her under Cruciatus, not releasing her until Lucius was on his knees begging him to stop.  _I've already changed the wards. Please._

He had loved Narcissa. Not in a romantic way a man could challenge unstoppable armies, but in the way of appreciating a loyal and understanding friend. She had been his partner for as long as he remembered. Though he kept many secrets from her, there were as much he shared. She was the mother of his heir, his son. He respected her- no other woman could be equally worthy to bear his name.

Hearing her cries had woken him up to a reality that he was helpless. He hadn't ever felt it as strongly.

That day onwards, it did little good for him to be dismissed by the rest of Inner Circle and the Dark Lord. Nobody cared for him in his own house. He had become invisible, his input on matters were invaluable. Doors that had never once been out of his reach had been locked on his face. The title of Lord of the Manor was long lost.

He had reduced to a point of not even feeling sweet revenge when Rabastan LeStrange was gifted with the Killing Curse. The Dark Lord had tired of him, taking absolute control of the estate upon his death. Who was Lucius anyway?

Lucius had become a shell of the man he used to be. He ghosted in the corridors of his ancestral home, staying in guest rooms that were never his with all the visitors coming and going. He never looked anyone dead in the eye, straying his gaze whenever the Dark Lord referred to him if ever, stuttering or oftenly gulping as he spoke. He hid in the corner of a room most of the days, slumping into a chair, brooding as his troubling thoughts never found a platform to be shared. Severus was away. Narcissa kept to herself and Draco was absent on missions. Lucius' mind frantically searched for a solution, because even he was aware this was not a way to live, but he came up empty-handed.

Until that day the Snatchers had brought Potter. He had had the perfect chance, _last_  chance actually, but fate had other plans for him.

Recalling how Lucius had protected his son's reckless behaviour that day- Draco had been  _right_  on his choice, Lucius had relented at some point while he was left to his own devices in the dungeons- Lucius had finally made peace with his fate. There would be no good grace of the Dark Lord, not for them.

Thus why he had had a wand pointed at his back as he stood amongst  _his people_. Used to be, anyway.

"Unfortunate," the Dark Lord commented to the announcement of Draco's death. "I'm sorry, Lucius."

Lucius hadn't noticed all the eyes turn to him, particularly a pair of red ones. He no longer felt the wand at his back- as he crumbled to his knees, he was lost to the outside world. He cared not an ounce that the Dark Lord lazily pointed his wand at him instead, not that Lucius was aware.

He had planned to escape to France. He would be alone, saving his skin, but he would avoid the war. Somehow. Of course he had thought about Draco. His son had never left his mind. Narcissa's death was buried deeper than his worry for his son, but even then, Lucius had found a selfish solution: _Draco is with the Light Side, he will survive and inherit everything; with a pardon, he can live his life here in England_. Lucius no longer had that chance. So he would escape, perhaps without seeing Draco again, but he would know that his son lived well.

Those thoughts that had once put his conscience at ease clashed with the news of his son's death, clouding Lucius' senses enough that he didn't notice a limping boy move forward from across the yard. He didn't notice the Dark Lord lowering his wand in favor of shifting his attention to the younger fellow instead of Lucius. He didn't notice, afterwards, as Harry Potter jumped to his feet, very much alive. The rest of the war had been a blur to him.

_He's dead, you know._

* * *

**By the way, I tried to give the memory as though Lucius recalled Hermione's experience. So it might be a bit...confusing, maybe... but if you think it was clear, give a thumbs up, if not, I better look through it again.**

**Anyway, thanks again for reading and hope you've enjoyed the chapter.**

**Take care!**

**-Ydream08**


	9. Chapter 9

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I hope my owl finds you well. I can't express how marvelous of a night it had been! My associates from the Ministry can't drop the subject of you, and thus I find honour in having escorted you. I hope you will find it agreeable to attend other events with me. Say, the charity opening, of which you can find the invitation attached?_

_I'd like to mention something, before I say that I eagerly await for your reply._

_It's come to my attention that you're increasingly spending time with the Noble Potter family. Although they are among the purest, I'd like to advise you that it is always best to be cautious. You wouldn't want to be known as a witch you are not._

_Yours,_

_Evan_

Hermione was appalled at the letter. Evan Rosier had been nothing but courteous towards her, perhaps they flirted a bit too, but to see himself in a position to comment on her association with others?

It was true that the Potters and her were growing closer. Her help with James' school had been greatly appreciated by the family, and it had been an excuse for her to request a chance of return to research in the library. She went to the Potter Manor twice a week nowadays. And, on top of that, Mrs. Potter had propositioned for Hermione to tutor James during summer. An offer she would not decline.

So, yes, the Potters were close to feeling like family, and Hermione did not like how Evan talked about them. It felt as though he found himself too polite to call them blood-traitors. Or he had just minded Hermione, at this point.

Hermione sighed and dispassionately wrote to Evan that she'd like to come to the charity opening he mentioned. It was in her interest to attend to these events, making network and finding those who she could turn back to someday just in case. Evan was her best bet in this regard, and she enjoyed laughing with him while they were at it.

It was also satisfactory to catch him looking her over.

Hermione was aware that such feelings should not be her priority, but Merlin, would she like a night away from her all her troubles!

The stupid Fiendfyre curse and its wards. Hermione Disapparated to the Forest of Dean whenever she found herself abundant in free time. She would get to a clearing before she cast the curse, mind you, but it was still not enough of precaution. The wards she learned from the books were tricky and had taken her a few tries before she got their boundaries defined. Since they were absorbent type of wards, it was actually safe to practice the notorious curse, though it had given her little reassurance at her very first try.

Reach the darkness, Hermione had done, and the Fiendfyre that had erupted from her wand for the first time had shot to a height trice the wards.

It was a nightmare how it finally extinguished. Good thing she was practicing by the lake and was competent with wandless spells.

Also, having read the books, she knew that it was the best to intervene fast. The flames acted on their own if left to their own devices, a mistake most casters did. Not Hermione. Perhaps she had failed to control the flames but she knew how and when to vanquish them.

After that first try, though, she used protective measures better. She entrapped the flames if she failed, negating their power with the absorption of the wards. She failed quite frequently, thus why she was more potent with the wards now rather than the curse itself.

So forth her days were spent. Hermione worked at the pub, practiced Fiendfyre and visited the Potters.

Two more times had Hermione attended to an event with Evan when Hermione came across the news of the Malfoy and Black wedding. The grandest event of the year, the Prophet wrote it would be, taking place in the Malfoy Manor.

Thinking that it was the perfect opportunity to get her plan into action, Hermione invited Evan out for tea, giving him the opportunity to ask her attendance.

* * *

Orion wasn't looking forward to the Malfoy wedding that was to take place in two days. If not for Evan, his cousin Alphard would entertain him throughout the night, but still. He was duty-bound to attend.

Eagerness of his cousin Cygnus, Walburga's eldest brother and father of the bride, was no secret in the Pureblood society. Cygnus Black was proud to wed his daughter, Narcissa, to the Noble House of Malfoy. A union that was rumoured to create a force without comparison.

The merge of houses was indeed prestigious, Orion agreed, but it was not as strong of a bond as Cygnus deemed in his conversation within his circles.

Orion was going to be in attendance as the Lord Black, Head of his House, and the absolute status it represented. And it was not  _his_  daughter who would be wedded to the Malfoys.

Not many people voiced how Cygnus would be received as accessory compared to the presence of Orion, who would be giving the final permission and blessing to the Black daughter for marriage.

Of course, Orion's father, Arcturus Black, the former Lord Black, would be there to see the happy couple wed, but he no longer held any say in the Black family matters. He had stepped down from his duty upon the birth of Sirius and was content living in a faraway cottage to the outskirts of England. He was a bit unhinged, a Healer assigned to him who was happy with the monthly deposits of galleons to his vault.

It would be a grand event that Walburga would enjoy being in the spotlight. Oh, Orion could bet his life that the sorry excuse of a woman he called wife would be treacherously sidestepping the bride that day. Something that Orion was sure Abraxas would fume about.

As the husband, Orion would let Walburga do as she desired. Sipping his firewhiskey, Orion could easily admit that he did not care the slightest if Walburga were humiliate herself in the wedding, causing a scene with Abraxas, and instigate the old rumours of her very first love.

Witch Weekly would enjoy writing the umpeenth article on how Walburga Black, in her youth, had been obsessed with notorious Abraxas Malfoy, totally smitten, and wasn't over him even today with how she was green with envy upon the wedding of her niece to his son.

Old gossips would fly and Walburga's dirty secrets before Orion took him as his bride would flame once again.

He would not give a damn, Orion decided. He was tired of the bitch and their recent arguments. Orion had been the dutiful husband as always, and reminded Walburga that visiting the Malfoys for wedding preparation, under the pretense that she was helping Narcissa, would not end well. His reminders initiated full blown fights, naturally.

Feeling a bit light on the head, Orion listened as he poured another glass of firewhiskey and decided to not think about this. He had emptied the bottle already, but his thoughts were flashing at his inner eye, bright as the noon sun.

"I'll bring the booze next time," came a voice. Orion lifted his head to see Evan entering his study. "You finish it before I arrive, that's why."

Orion snorted. Like he cared. It wasn't as though he had invited Evan over. He snarked, "Don't remember having a  _date_ … Who let you in?"

"Your house-elf, Whiny." Evan shrugged and acted to pour himself a glass after he got seated across from Orion at the armchair. That and the couch faced the fireplace that roared with warm flames. It was a spacious study room Orion had. The reason why he wouldn't be found anywhere else in his house.

Of course, nights were spent in his hotel suite.

"Celebrating the wedding beforehand, heh?"

Orion grumbled at him, not feeling the mirth Evan had at the moment. Perhaps his friend had driven a Muggle mad on his way here, something that certainly would have amused the man. Or he had spent some quality time with a women of interest. Orion had been hearing recently that the identity of the particular woman had been…

"You need not worry. If it's any consolation, Abraxas has been old history when dear Wally is concerned. Gossip is bound to be about our affair, anyway. Wally and mine."

So Orion was indeed right to be disturbed of the current situation. If the prospects of gossips had occurred to Evan, it was likely that the Blacks would be doomed to be the first page material the upcoming week. And the subject of news wouldn't only be Narcissa Black.

"Don't say it like that. ' _Affair'_? Salazar, that sounds as though Walburga has been disloyal in our marriage." Orion didn't know why he cared. It was not like Walburga was the object of his desires, someone he would not stand another men to touch, kiss,  _worship_. "The mess with you and Malfoy was before our marriage."

Evan rose his glass and tilted his head, giving the due credit. "Indeed, it was. Buried events, before you married princess Black."

Orion grinned, but it didn't stick around. They sipped their drinks in silence. He wouldn't have opened his mouth, being sadiated with each sip of his beverage, but the smirk he observed from the corner of his eyes was unnerving.

Such an elevated mood did only mean one thing for his old mate: A magnificent fuck.

"Miss Granger?" Orion blurted out all of a sudden. His dozed mind quick to come to a conclusion.

"What of her?" Evan's smirk widened to a full smile, thirty-six teeth visible.

"Is she the reason of your blaise?"

"Hmmmhmmm."

Evan stretched the syllables as though he tasted them, mocking him. The bastard.

Realizing that his mate wouldn't elaborate further, Orion inquired, "You are courting her?"

Orion's face was impassive as he asked, but Evan needed no impression from him to enjoy the conversation the more.

"Well, no."

Oh, how much Orion wanted to punch his smiling arse-face. That could only mean one thing…

"So you're fucking her?"

Orion wasn't aware how he gripped his glass tighter, but he very well knew that the heat rose in his body, a tell-tale for his thinning patience, and the nauseous feeling in his stomach did little good to maintain his usual collected nature.

Evan laughed. The bloody bastard laughed.

"Yes and no."

Orion licked his front teeth and clicked his tongue.  _Anything_  to prevent him from speaking. The  _yes_ was the only answer that had registered to him.

Finally turning back to glare at his mate, he realized Evan was busy fondly recalling his experiences.

* * *

_Oh, he loved how she blushed. She wasn't even looking at him. While talking to Stefan Selwyn, half-blood bastard of Lord Selwyn, who currently worked in the Ministry Archives, Miss Granger was aware how he leered at her. Thus her cheeks painting in a lovely red._

_It matched the tight dress she wore._

_Long sleeves but bare shoulders, the strapless dress fit the witch like a glove until her waist, and then on, it flew like water to the ground. It was a must to stare at her neck and shoulders, anywhere in between, as if to decide where he wanted to bite that creamy skin for the first time. He would trail kisses, afterwards, all the while Evan cupped her breasts from behind, massaging them before teasing her nipples. He would free them from the dress, of course. Oh, and he would bite her just when he started to rub his erection to her bum over her red dress. She would steady her feet by leaning to the wall, and he would push her further and further._

_He'd like to hear his name on her lips before anything else, though. Mr. Rosier was a mouthful._ _**Milord** _ _would sound equally exquisite as Evan, though._

_The witch cleared her throat to which Evan blinked. Stefan was gone. The two of them were alone. Better this way. Evan couldn't believe how the dolt could bore them more than the charity event that they were currently attending. Something about patients with magical core infections._

_Miss Granger gently extracted his hand on her waist, the one that drew circles absentmindedly throughout her conversation. Another reason why she was so flustered, Evan guessed._

" _I'll get refreshments," Miss Granger announced, but Evan heard none of it. He left her shortly to reunite, beverages in hand._

" _Mr. Selwyn hasn't bored you to death, I hope?" Evan asked with a smirk, thinking that he would remedy that if it was the case. Like he had been thinking, his manor was a long way from here. A deserted corridor, however…_

" _He was really helpful. Thank you, by the way. I wouldn't have known to talk to him about the family records without you. It was an unfortunate news to hear Arthur Dagworth-Granger to be deceased, so I guess this is the only way I can look into my ancestry."_

" _Your gratitude is appreciated, Hermione." Evan saw how she quickly glanced at him upon the use of her given name, and looked away just the same. It was visible that she gulped. Sweet Circe. This was going to be a night to remember. "And perhaps, you could excuse me if I were to say I'm not keen to bore myself in this dull event and would like to take an early leave."_

_The crestfallen look on her face was so pure combined with her response, "Oh, are you leaving?"_

" _ **We**_   _will be leaving."_

_Evan flicked his long hair back, flashing a toothy smirk in the young woman's way. He might be older than her, more than ten years he assumed, but Evan could entertain her all night like any young lass around here. Even better so._

" _I-I," the witch was at a loss of words, her pretty mouth open as if for him to fantasize how she would accept his length in that pretty mouth of hers. She was a delectable witch, truly._

_Evan watched in amusement as emotions crossed her face. Confusion. Indecisiveness. Doubts. Desire. Determination._

_Her eyes were aflame while her cheeks kept the colour to them; she looked straight into his eyes. "I think I'd like that."_

_Evan traced from her arm to her hand, gently grasping it to rest it on his forearm so that he could lead her outside. The Apparition point wasn't far away._

_The moment the two of them were outside, the cold night air cooled their heat and even Evan was left with a slight shiver to his spine._

_Glancing at the witch in his arm, he congratulated himself for the victory: He was taking her home. Since seeing her by Gringotts that day, it had been in Evan's dreams to spent a night with her. She was one of a kind, really. Refreshment among all the witches he knew. Something about her, Evan wasn't sure what. The way she carried herself? Most pureblood witches were taught this. Her mannerism? Again, taught to all those with pure heritage. The air around her, perhaps? Being in the same room as Miss Granger was enough of an attractive force. Indeed a force._

_Of course, her easy conversation and bright smiles were extras. As well as her heated discussions and stubborn arguments. She would be a fine wife to some pureblood wizard. Or a half-blood, if she was indeed generous with her affections like tonight. But, marry nonetheless._

_To someone not him, obviously._

_In the meantime, if she found it agreeable, she could warm his bed._

" _Mr. Rosier?" A few steps were left for them to safely Disapparate._

" _Please, Evan." Milord was early. He would have her agree in between kisses._

_Hermione cleared her throat. "Evan. You remind me of a friend. From France, but I remember him mentioning that he had relatives here in England."_

" _Go on, poppet." He tucked a strand behind her ear, his fingertips touching her cheek just barely as he dropped his hand._

" _Any relation to the Weasleys? I hear that they are a known family here more than France. My friend's grandfather was one, if I remember correctly."_

_Evan was laughing before he understood what was happening. Had he heard her right?_

" _Funny," he managed to say. But seeing the shocked face of hers, he slowed down._

_Had she meant it? A Weasley? A fucking Weasley? Evan Rosier, of the purest and most esteemed House of Rosier, being a Merlin-cursed Weasley?_

" _Blood-traitors the lot of them," Evan said evenly. "Never would have imagined you asking that, in million years, sweetheart."_

_He put his hands on either side of her face. She was obviously unsure of what was next. Evan would gladly lead._

_He dipped his head, slowly, so excruciatingly slowly that he knew exactly when her breath hitched. Just when his nose brushed hers, and his lips were close enough to touch but separated from hers. His warm breath mingled with her own as she had already parted her lips, waiting. Such a patient girl._

" _I believe an apology is in order," Evan whispered and without waiting for a reaction from her, he connected their lips, immediately seeking her tongue with his._

_The crack of Disapparation echoed from the place the couple were a moment ago._

* * *

"Bastard," Orion growled but his friend was unable to give him a proper response.

"Soft curves and a wicked minx, that girl is," Evan decided on sharing. "It was that one time, unfortunately. She is not a fool to fall back for a second time."

Orion's roaring thought halted. As well as the curses at the tip of his tongue. "She is not?"

"A fool, her? Have you met the woman? She was aware that I had eye-fucked two women until my attention was solely on her that night. She called me a 'stress-reliever' afterwards. Unbelievable, no?"

Orion was at a loss of words. His mouth was dry, thanks to all the alcohol he had consumed. Oh, and the headache that surfaced.

"I reminded her of a friend, too. An old lover from France, apparently. Whatever the bloke has done to her, she won't be coming to my bed ever again. She is the romantic type, anyway."

Orion rose his hand, his signet ring catching the firelight. "Wait. The last Ministry organisation was two days prior, and Miss Granger was with you. She didn't look like she hated your guts."

That won a laughter from his friend.

"Oh, great Salazar! My mistake, never told you when I fucked her. Remember the Healers' Charity event? A month ago?"

It was either that Orion was hallucinating what Evan was saying, or the ginger man had lost the count of his drinks too quickly.

"She wont have me again but she attends to events with me," Evan provided on Orion's bewildered look. "I invite her. She meets with people, asks around her family and generally include herself in the society."

"What is in it for you?"

"Aside from having the prettiest witch on my arm? I choose her dresses by the way, better match, you know." Evan scratched his beard, a wicked grin formed soon after. "You know how some cats like to steal others' food? Just under their noses?"

Orion rose his eyebrows. He repeated what he understood so that there would be no misunderstanding. "You take Miss Granger out, and leave with another witch?"

"Witch, witches." He shrugged. "They are game to try and win over my affections from such an intimidating witch as Hermione. It is well for their ego that I chose them over her, and it is well for my appetite and young soul. Win, win."

"You never learn, do you?" Orion asked with a sigh. It was Walburga instance all over again. Orion wondered who would be Evan's next victim of a broken heart.

"Miss Granger, is she-"

"Not pregnant and delirious with hatred, no worries. I do a mistake once," Evan interjected. Again, Evan and his marvelous conclusions. "You can see for yourself in the wedding. We met for tea the other day and I asked her to be my date as usual."

Orion nodded, indeed planing to see Miss Granger at first chance during the wedding. He just hoped that he wouldn't  _stare_  at her lips, the thought of his best mate having kissed her drumming in his mind.

* * *

Lucius needed an opportunity to catch the woman. He would tie her up and hush her indefinitely, at least until he was done talking.

Salazar knew an hour wouldn't be enough to get his mess of a mind out in the open. Where to start? What to ask? What to demand?

Three weeks ago, Lucius had the chance to ask his fiance Narcissa what was troubling him and ever since, he had gone mad rationalizing every miniscule possibility for the meaning of this.

" _Draco? No, I know of no one with that name. It is a constellation, so could be a Black if it helps? Not any living relative that I know of… It's such a strong name, though. Sounds influential. Say, we can name our son Draco, perhaps?"_

Lucius had to have a word in private with one Hermione Granger. He was notified that she would attend to his wedding, but no excuse to interrogate her during his own nuptial. Not like he could lock her in the dungeons while the music played after their vows.

Oh, no amount of music would cover her screams if she were to be…  _uncooperative_.

Cracking his neck to relieve some of his stress, Lucius depended on his spare plan.

"Father? Weren't you complaining about your health the other day? A private healer could attend to your needs and you wouldn't worry about the press being privy of the news."

Abraxas Malfoy was reluctant to the idea of course. "Anyone from St. Mungo's would rat it out. And I'd become an experiment, once again, son."

"What about Miss Granger? Lord Black's guest who was a Healer from France? Remember her? She should not be registered here in England. No connection to the Ministry of Health and Welfare. She could be just what you need."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> I'd like to inform you that I'm crossposting this story from my ffnet page (the same username), 13 chapters already written (The reason I'm posting as often, in fact xP). And reviews there have contributed to the development of this story. 
> 
> For this chapter especially, I had left a note on ffnet like this: "This chapter would have been dull, actually, devoid of 'hot stuff' as 'Silver Orbed Lioness' has mentioned of looking forward to. So the short tease of Hermione and Evan's relationship was thanks to her lovely review, and I'm massively happy that I included it."
> 
> I'm thanking her again!
> 
> I thank all of you who show interest in the story. It makes writing much easier to know readers appreciate and enjoy the story. Thanks :D
> 
> Take care.
> 
> -Ydream08


	10. Chapter 10

"Ooh, Remus got himself a crush?" James whispered, jabbing their sandy-haired friend in the ribs. Remus hushed him consequently, but his blush was apparent on his cheeks.

"I'd be jealous," Sirius added with sparks in his eyes and a grin to his face while he buttered up his toast. It was morning, one that didn't lack the mayhem. It was because of the Ravenclaw girl. Second year. Dark brown haired with too big a pair of eyes to her small face. "She's definitely a fan. Has been following you. I don't worry, though. It is obviously unrequited."

"I don't know what you are talking about. I mean- I never thought..." Remus blanched. He had not given the girl any mind then. Not even after she snuck up to him in front of the Great Hall merely half an hour earlier, and asked him to help her study. "I'll help her study, that's all.

"Imagine a common room of bright people, House of Intelligence, you know; but you go ask help from a Gryffindor." Sirius shrugged, "You love us better, mate. That I don't doubt."

When he returned to his meal, Remus was given chance of a monologue of how he did not  _like_  like the girl -hence proving Sirius' point- and wouldn't be interested anyway. It was just helping her with charms. James was the only one of the thirteen-year-olds who was undeniably in love, the others newly bordering about being curious to the foreign emotions. Sirius was a curious person by nature.

But curiosity had nothing to do with how he was meant to attend the vows of the love of the decade.

That was what the Malfoy wedding was called sometimes. Among many other things.

Half of the Slytherins from year five and above were absent due to the event. Nobody wished to miss it.

Except for Sirius, of course.

He had to go to the Headmaster's office after breakfast, floo home, and obey his mother's wishes that would entail him to flaunt as the heir of the Blacks by the evening. Sure, Sirius wouldn't miss Cissy's wedding for anything; she was the second best cousin he had after Andy. But he wasn't thrilled at her choice of husband.

Malfoy was a right git.

Mocking Sirius' acceptance to Gryffindor was the mildest of the man's faults. His view that Sirius was a blood-traitor was of no importance to the young Gryffindor, but it understandably declined Malfoy's behaviour toward him. Sirius couldn't help but feel like a cockroach made of gold. Gold because that was all being a Black had gained him, Sirius summarized. And it was as though he clung to Malfoy's shoes at the corner of his sight whenever the two were in the same room.

Sirius had to begrudgingly accept that the git acted like a prince when it came to cousin Cissy, though. She was all that he could see, and one smile from his cousin made the man docile.

Docile or not, it had been outright spectacular to have witnessed the man get knocked down by Miss Hermione.

Sirius couldn't help but think about the young woman since that family dinner uncle Cynus was unable to attend. It wasn't everyday that a witch pointed her wand at a Malfoy, and the little surprise of her mysterious relation to Sirius made everything even the more enthralling.

Not to mention, it turned out to be her who sent the study planners and notes to James.

Perhaps Sirius could dance with her tonight in the wedding, compliment her and make her swoon just to have his promised explanation about her ancestry.

He could very well invite his daughter to a dance, right?

Confused but thrilled by the situation at the same time, Sirius had a skip to his feet as he made his way to the floo attached to the Headmaster's office.

Kreacher was there to greet him and for once Sirius didn't mind the elf sneering at him. He was informed to wait for Reggie, the two brothers were to floo to the Malfoy Manor to their mother.

Kreacher added, "Lord Black will come accordingly," which definitely meant late.

Sirius huffed. His father was rarely around. Sirius liked it that way, truthfully. When he was indeed home, Sirius was left with no choice but to surrender to his mother. He couldn't even have the tiny consolation that his words  _hurt_ Walburga Black, made her furious and red with shame. He could never hurt her back in an equal measure, but when his father was there, all he said was, "She is your mother. You will treat her as such. I won't hear nothing more."

And after that intervention, Sirius would be left alone with his mother again. Until his father came back again to check on them because of all the shouting and curses, cries and delirium. Sirius would get an earful once and for all; then Orion Black would do the only thing he was good for: He would drag Walburga out of Sirius' bedroom where he would be locked for the remaining night.

Sirius should have known this schedule would uphold today. Weddings were no exception, it seemed.

Even if it was the Malfoy wedding, even if the Blacks cared about their image to the society, even if Orion Black seemed as a functional father to the outside world, none of it were enough to prevent when Sirius went and did it again. Be himself, that was.

It was a frenzy when the Black brothers set foot in the Malfoy Manor. House-elves were popping in and out of sight, carrying decorations, food, refreshments, everything. His mother was not around bossing everything that walked, but apparently that duty had been given to his cousin Bella. She barked orders as if it was second nature to her.

Sirius doubted it wasn't.

Reggie had received kisses to his cheeks while he was shoved by the shoulder, their cousin Bella sending them to the gardens where the cocktails were to be served till the nuptials.

It was noon so nobody had arrived yet. Uncle Rosier and Lord Malfoy stood by a table, drinking early as the Blacks and the elves running around to get everything ready.

Sirius had come across Ms. Parkinson, cousin Cissy's friend from Hogwarts, while she rushed about crying out something that sounded like 'veil'.

An hour later Uncle Cygnus arrived, directly joining Malfoy Sr.. That was the moment Uncle Evan beckoned them forward, intending the two youngsters to accompany them.

"You are both here early," Uncle Rosier commented.

Sirius shrugged. "It's not like we're girls. All those from Slytherins left earlier than me, but no one's around."

Uncle Rosier scratched his beard. His long hair was tied at the back, but since it was not as long as the groom's, his chin-length red hair came loose close to his eyes.

Righting the loose strands, he huffed. "Woman, mate. They need the-" -he checked his clock- "-five hours till the cocktail starts. No amount of spell could make them pretty, but alas, they try."

Reg and he giggled, but Lord Malfoy and Uncle Cygnus seemed to not share Uncle Rosier's joke.

Somebody who would appreciate it joined them not soon after. Alphard Black was the best uncle in the world. At the age of fifty five, he was of the few wizards who still sought for adventure and risk. He was a famous curse-breaker, though not the kind to be employed by the Ministry or banks like Gringotts. Being a Black, although he had passed the chance of being a successor, uncle Alphard had more money than half of the wizarding society, thus he was in no need of a job with steady income.

No, uncle Alphard took on dangerous quests made by shady witches and wizards. Sharing his sharp memory, Sirius knew his uncle's fascination of Dark Arts combined with his thirst of treasure hunting, had made him one hell of a storyteller. It made it all the better that the stories were true.

"Late to the party, am I?" Uncle Alphard asked, patting his nephews at the back. "You two have grown much. Especially you, Sirius. And that hair of yours! Phew. You must have a hard time hiding from Walls."

Sirius grinned from ear to ear. His hair had grown long enough to tie up. Something he loved as his tying bands were great at hitting targets. His mother was the infamous target outside of Hogwarts.

"You bet," Sirius said which earned him a wink from uncle Alphard.

"Regulus, my boy, aren't you the gentlemen amongst us! Excited for your letter?"

Regulus was shifting at the balls of his feet even at the mention of his impending Hogwarts letter. Sirius would have been excited if he were not. It was his bloody acceptance letter, only four months or so away! Sirius tried to ignore the faint dread that nibbed at his conscious. If Regulus was coming to Hogwarts, he wasn't joining Gryffindor.

As his brother, Sirius prayed for Ravenclaw. If her mother was a mind reader, he would surely be beaten for the mere thought, but he couldn't help it.  _Please, Ravenclaw._

"Not for the letter, not much. But my wand? It will be amazing, uncle."

His uncle and Rosier exchanged recent activities in which younger Blacks were left to their silence, however in content. It was rare that adults made them feel welcomed. At the age of thirteen, Sirius most of the time didn't fancy sitting at diner tables or breathing the same air as his parents and their friends.

Of course, it had something to with how his mother always looked at him as though a blemish to the Black name. She had the habit of ignoring him during the dinners, but at gatherings she was forced to bring him, his mother usually talked over him or change the subject of conversation if it ever strayed to Hogwarts.

Unluckily, this time, his mother wasn't there to sensor when the topic actually strayed to Hogwarts.

Uncle Evan and Alphard were not particularly interested in listening about his Gryffindor experiencences, but they sought for gossips about the teachers and the Quidditch Cup.

"Professor Sprout's absent this year. Maternity leave, last I've heard. But Minnie and Professor Sinistra are there. As well as Flitwick and Slughorn."

"Minnie? Who's Minnie?" intervened Uncle Evan.

"Minerva McGonagall."

"I know that name- wait, has she become a teacher? She had been an observant back in my day, coming and going with old Dumbledore."

Uncle Alphard was at loss who they were talking about. Uncle Evan seemed to share only a year with Sirius' professor, probably in his seventh year.

"Dumbledore is the Headmaster," Sirius informed. "So Professor McGonagall teaches transfiguration."

"And you call her 'Minnie'? Why?" Uncle Alphard was not angry per se, but even he wasn't thrilled to hear the nickname. Sirius nervously scratched the back of his neck.

"She's our Head of House, you see. And, I- well, she is Minnie."

"I see." Uncle Alphard seemed to be really interested for the first time when he asked, "So, what sort are there in Gryffindor?"

That's how Sirius get to spill about his friends and enemies. It was something he would never do, but having been asked, Sirius was compelled to actually share his grand experiences -laughs, pranks, detentions, fights- with his uncle who was attentively listening.

James was the first name that popped into Sirius' mind. As he explained how he was shite at potions regardless of his famous father, or how he crushed hard on a girl named Lily Evans ("Did you say Evans? Is she…" Sirius later registered this question of uncle Evan), or how the bespectacled friend of his was the easiest to share a laugh with after a Quidditch practice. Then he talked about Remus, the shy and studious boy whose sense of humor hit the perfect accord with Sirius. His uncle Alphard seemed to recognize the Lupin name, but no matter uncle Evan's narrowed eyes or the speechless and horror-stricken face of Regulus, Sirius continued to talk about how Remus freaked out about even the slightest interest a girl had shown in him.

When it came to Slytherin, and his less than savory thought about the Carrow twins and that Selwyn, Sirius could admit that the concern of thinking twice before he uttered another word had vanished from his mind.

He was just in the middle of telling the story of how he and James had jinxed the Slytherin brooms prior to a Quidditch game in retaliation of how they had taunted James with splaying a slur about his crush on the flags hanging in the Great Hall.

It was his mother's shriek that alerted him, but he was too caught up telling the story to  _stop_ before he was smacked at the back his head.

"Stop right at this instant. How dare you shame us! Uttering those filth at such a sacred day. Those worthless scum have been rubbing off you, and I'm  _sick_ of warning you, hear me?"

The sharp pain of his ear being pulled,  _twisted_ , made him wince but he refused to respond even if his ear felt like detaching from his head.

"When will you learn!" Sirius' eyes stung with tears and he felt so stupid for even sharing what he had, but it was not wrong. It was not wrong to yell back at his mother. Stupid but not wrong.

"LEARN WHAT? THEY ARE MY MATES AND NOTHING CAN CHANGE THAT."

His ear was freed but the next moment, his neck spun to the other side, his ears rung as his cheek burned where his mother had slapped him. Across the face. Unforgiving.

She leveled her gaze with him. Her breath was foul as her expression. Uglier than Peeves. And the Poltergeist smiled most of the time, something Walburga Black lacked even in her happiest day.

Her voice cut through the air and her words struck to his lungs, suffocating him along with the strong urge to cry. "Associating with rotten excuse of… of… even house-elves have their uses, but they don't; understand it? You are a  _Black_ -"

"Enough."

The deep voice stalled his mother, but Sirius had to quickly remind himself the sudden hope that filled his chest should be extinguished. His father would not stand up for him. It was always his wife. His business, foremost. But never him. Never Sirius. Never Regulus. Never them.

His  _sons._

"Silence Walburga," he said, then Sirius locked his gaze with his to challenge him. Perhaps this time, he wouldn't…

But he did.

"Apologize to your mother this instant. I won't tolerate you being disrespectful towards her. Are we clear?"

Sirius knitted his brows together and said what was sure to earn him a lock-up for the remaining of the day. Whether his father cared, Sirius didn't know.

Because it was never his father that took to his heart when Sirius disobeyed or shouted back. He was always...aloof, uncaring, unattached. Unlike his mother, Sirius had concluded long ago that his father was at peace with his existence. Not bothered by it, but not entirely involved.

Sirius' mother, though, abhorred every word that came out of his mouth. Sirius would always shame the family name, pull it through mud, engrave it to the society that Blacks were not as prestigious as they played out to be.

Because he was a Gryffindor. Because he associated with blood-traitors. Because he was friends with Mudbloods. Because he was a scum, himself.

"I won't," Sirius declared. His nostrils aflame, he continued. "She better apologize. She was the one to insult  _my_  friends. If they are hundred times the better wizards and witches than her, it's obviously not their fault-"

"You will."

His father's statement hung in the air for a few moments before Sirius glared at him and forced between gritted teeth: "I won't."

He shoved his way out and acted inside, but he was already aware of his mother following him.

"Kreacher!" she shrieked as Sirius sprinted to the fireplace.  _If only he could floo back Hogwarts…_

"To downstairs, this time. No food or water. He will be chained."

Sirius had the floo powder in his hand, he threw it to the fireplace and shouted, "Hogwarts" but before he could step in, thin fingers grasped his upper arm.

Side-Disapparition twisted his gut but it was not because of that, that he vomited once he arrived back home.

He didn't want this. The scars on his back that were left from the last time his mother taught him to be a Black ached at the mere thought of what was bound to happen. He hated it. Hated his mother. His father. He hated himself.

He was an idiot to do the right thing. To befriend James and Remus. To be nice and respectful to Evans. To hate the guts of pureblood Slytherins.

He was an idiot.

But the right things, he did.  _Always._

* * *

Hermione had gotten used to being left to her own devices by Evan Rosier. The bigoted git would always ensnare a pretty witch within half an hour to their arrival. Just enough time to pass Hermione into an interested wizard's care.

She wouldn't have minded, normally. Evan was a man who was means than end for her. Enjoying his company never meant she would keep him, and it would have been impossible after all since the man was prone to share his ideals to Hermione's distaste.

After their night of intimacy, Hermione had made a mistake of wondering the man's true reason for affiliating with Voldemort, and she had boldly asked the next time they met.

She hadn't outright demanded to know why he was supporting Voldemort, but she was content to listen to his comments about her out-loud wondering about her ancestry.

The topic had quickly evolved into why the Muggle-borns and Muggles were a risk to the wizarding society.

One thing that had surprised Hermione had been that Evan hadn't spout nonsense that she had heard from Malfoy -Draco- in their time back in Hogwarts. There was a reasoning, not just insults and demeaning.

Muggle-borns were apparently a risk to the Statue of Secrecy. That was a minor setback as the likes of Evan favoured removing the law that forced the wizarding kind to hide in the first place. It was concerning for them that Muggles were growing in number, claiming their lands and restricting their magic use. Fear of a second round of witch-hunting at this era would be perilous as unbalanced numbers were against the wizards. Hermione hated to add in her head the fire guns and similar arsenal, let alone newly invented atom bomb.

That she understood somewhat. Not how they dealt with the Muggle concern, but the fact that it was a concern was plain in sight.

For Muggle-borns though. The real concern seemed to lay in the belief that they stole magic from deserving purebloods, turning them into squibs. If this was not enough, their vulgar ways and beliefs, lack of respect to the wizard culture and refusal to choose their magic when it came down to it, had made them undeserving to the right to their wand. Or so has Evan shared.

Hermione's head ached by the time he had finished sharing his thoughts. Her mantra that she fucking disagreed, was not enough to come up with a persuasive reasoning as to why he was wrong.

She was not surprised such belief had been exploited by Voldemort easily. Any politician would have swayed such people into agreeing with their ways, but Voldemort presenting the society to release their anger and take justice to their own hands had been alluring to everyone, it seemed.

That long conversation had smacked the truth in Hermione's face that taking Voldemort out of equation and going her merry way would never get her to achieve the peace she desired.

There had been peace in her own timeline because, through war and losses, it was reminded what was important. Not blood or power, but being human. Coexisting. Being respectful for one another. Even the very small minority had resentfully relented acceptance of Muggleborns if it meant that they would no longer be target by the Ministry, live in peace and not lose another member of the family. Many families had been broken because of the war. The bloodshed had not overlooked anyone.

Altogether, people  _learned_.

So, in this time and place, 1970s, if Hermione were to destroy the Horcruxes and, say, suffocate Voldemort in his sleep, the next day there would be someone else to fill his place.

People would not share those experience and still seek for the revenge and ideals majority of the wizarding society held today.

Of course, this realization and their rather deep and political conversation was forgotten when Evan had spotted a witch in red dress.

He had a thing for red hair, dresses, lipstick, red anything. One would believe his own hair to be discouraging, but no, he preyed on those in red.

If she hadn't slept with the man and spent a considerable amount with him, she would suspect vampirism.

Hermione didn't think about Evan Rosier any further during the Malfoy wedding though. Truth to be told, she was distracted herself. At age twenty-six, Hermione had always thought males in her age group were childish, but she was amazed how much older man caught her eye. And how she caught their equally.

Really, there was no other healthy reason that she was in the arms of one Abraxas Malfoy, dancing to the third song now.

Vows were said and done. The magical binding had Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy contently swaying in each others embrace. Garden was full of people who were slowly stepping down from dancing to get seated for the meals.

"You are silent, Miss Granger."

At Abraxas' soft voice her eyes shot to meet with his. She had been trying her hardest not to mind his warm hand that firmly held her waist, and their rather grown proximity after the second song.

Her mind was also busy with considering his proposition.  _Become his Healer?_

It was natural that her brain was on overdrive.

"Your proposition was…" He whiffed at her perfume, she was sure, but she had to be delusional to think his hold had shifted slightly to resemble a caress. Lower at her back, might she add. "Unexpected, that's all."

Malfoy Sr. nodded. "Not a rejection, then?"

Hermione searched his green eyes that gave nothing away. A colour so similar to his best friend turning out to be so distant was beyond her, but as she kept her gaze in place, she felt Malfoy Sr.'s proposition wouldn't be there on the table whole day.

It was a perfect opportunity to gather the diary, and even catch a passing information on the cup. And the ring, now that she thought about it. That left only the locket. Hermione suspected it was where Harry had told Hermione he had retrieved the artifact with Dumbledore, so she was in no rush to locate it just yet.

There was also the fact that she could be more in control with the situation with the Malfoy all the while giving the image that she was involved both with the Malfoys and Potters. A nice vantage point, if you asked her.

"Very well, then. I can't refuse someone in need."

His brows slightly knitted together but he made no sound till the end of the song. Once it finished, he led her to be seated and kissed the back of her hand as a farewell.

Abraxas Malfoy knew how to get the last say, her blushing face be damned. "Your assistance will indeed be needed."

* * *

It was as though the young woman was eager to  _please_  everyone but him. Orion grumbled, a few foul words gathering at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them with an old Ogden's Ale.

It did his nerves little good to keep tabs on the woman throughout the night. She had been a menace.

Evan had been true to his word, bringing Miss Granger and leaving her to entertain herself. He was busy with some blonde woman, a widow if he recalled correctly. Older than them by two years but good enough for a shag for Evan, Orion suspected. There was no shame in admitting his friend was eager to bed anything on two feet.

Orion wasn't sure even Muggles were exceptions sometimes.

That was not the center of his attention tonight, though.

It was the woman in green robes that his eyes strayed to each time. It was her tantalizing deep v-neckline, the teasing glance of her round globes, that mocked him to his distasteful mood as of current. It was her voluminous hair donned in a loose bun, her glittering make-up and lovely legs that occupied his mind. After shedding her outer robes, her dress left little to his imagination. Although she wore elegantly, Orion Black could fill the blanks very easily.

He concluded it to be no wonder though, her attire and her generous smiles. Even in Abraxas' arms, she looked to belong there.

Belong in every which man that  _breathed._

_Not me_ , his mind shouted resentfully but his bubbling anger that urged him to down another shot of whiskey supported that it was right of him to rid his mind of the woman.

She was just a half-blood slag. At best.

Her amber eyes, teary and full of emotion, her poise confident and feminine, her manners delightful and soothing were just facade that Orion had taken a short fancy upon her entrance to his life that very first day.

Miss Granger had climbed the ladder much quicker to his guesses though. First, Evan, and then Abraxas. Such a surprise.


	11. Chapter 11

For a change, Hermione was truly alone. Funny how difficult of a task that can be, even if she was sent back to a foreign time by herself. No relatives she knew of from her own.

Back at the inn she stayed, she and the matron had grown familiar. When she visited the Potters, Mrs. Potter never left her before sharing tea together. Evan used to take her out and humour her all the time, and now, she found herself spending extra time in Abraxas Malfoy's company.

It was intentional -not on her side- how the two of them found a harmony together. After his third session -the man didn't seem to have any serious health problems aside from exhaustion- Hermione had tentatively asked if she could use his library.

It was a request both for the Fiendfyre curse project of hers and wandering in the Manor unsupervised. She had visited his study room already and all she had needed was a second time in the room without Malfoy Sr..

Well, it turned out to be a harder task to slip away under his nose. The man occupied the library with her whenever she requested to stay. He would select a book and sit down to read it as she searched through the shelves. A harmony, indeed.

One and a half month had passed since she had attended to the Malfoy wedding and she hadn't heard from Evan since then. Not that he didn't invite her to certain events, but as occupied as she was with Mr. Malfoy, she kindly declined him. Today, however, the red-haired man finally sent her an owl of some substance. It was a howler, actually.

It came during dinner. The Potters had insisted her to stay over. She and James had already went through his summer schedule and they were to go on vacation the day after tomorrow.

" _Hermione,_

_It must be fun for you to rip my heart apart. While you're laughing, let me humour you more: Ladies seem to think I'm back to my old days. Apparently seducing me while you and I were together had been reasonable. I was a man who held a witch, carried her as my equal, but now I'm a lone wolf out to prey, they say. It seems not as enthralling as it used to. Not the same opportunity. The fucking vultures. This is all fucked up."_

At the cursing Mrs. Potter gasped and her eyes shot to James. It wouldn't have prepared her for the rest of the howler. It wasn't an angry one. Evan sounded drunk and sad more than anything.

" _Those shite old-hags were all whoring when you regally stood by me. If they were to hear you had never again warmed my bed, they would have shrieked like a banshee, but alas, they are ignorant. They would never compare to your beauty in any case. I can't help but remember how well you fit to my-"_

The howler burned and Hermione stared at the blue eyes of Mrs. Potter where shreds of the letter fell to the table. The older woman had her wand out.

"I profusely apologize-" Hermione started, her cheeks scarlet. One thing she prayed in gratitude was that Mrs. Potter hadn't let the howler continue, because Hermione had a hunch that Evan would mention her association to Mr. Malfoy not so kindly. Witch Weekly had put an article two days back about the two of them and she doubted Evan missed it. He would mention it alright, after his description of how she fit him.  _Merlin._

Mrs. Potter had nodded and after the tense few minutes of playing with her desert, Hermione excused herself.

That's how she was alone. She wasn't at the Potter Manor, Malfoy Manor or in the inn. That latter situation was the best upside of the past one month and a half's benefit: she had her own place. Granted, it was the cottage of the Dagworth-Granger's but as she had tweaked the legal documents in the Ministry, she had rightfully inherited it. The remaining handful of relatives of the esteemed House of Dagworth-Granger, were in America, so she didn't worry she would be ratted out.

And that's how she now owned the haunted house. No elves, no nothing… Just dust, and of course wind that howled and slapped the windows. Her first week was ending in her new accomodation but it still felt strange to walk in its rooms.

Hermione opted to head straight to her room. She had a big day tomorrow. It would be the day that she acquired the diary of Tom Riddle.  _If_  she could get into Malfoy Sr.'s study room.

Thursdays Abraxas was needed in Wizengamot- for whatever reason, Hermione didn't know. If it weren't for the Ministry calling, the man managed to orchestrate his business dealings -even the new potion chain he bought- from the Manor.

That's how he was always present in the Manor. And around her.

It was in the third session, in the second week, that he confessed: "My aches dim when you arrive, Ms. Granger."

Upon insistent requests, she agreed to increase her visits and their duration in exchange for perusing the library. It was an advantageous prospect when she thought how the Potters were going to leave for summer and her research had to be stalled otherwise.

Her relationship with Abraxas never turned into inappropriate waters. She was aware the man liked having her around, not like a friend but not in the way one would seek a Healer, too. Hermione didn't know what he saw when he looked at her, but for one thing, she would find the man humming whenever she arrived in the Manor.

Something about his complaints having been vanished ever since her addition to the 'family'.

Hermione was concerned she had done something wrong with her Obliviate.

"Yes, I'm an old and tired man, but Ms. Granger, there are so many things that are waiting to be done! Gringotts, for example, does no longer hold its prestige around the world. The most protected Wizarding Bank? You better see what the Swiss have done! I need perfect cautions for my ownings."

Seeming sane enough, Hermione would humor Mr. Malfoy by keeping with the daily happenings and discussing the latest events.

And one morning, he had invited her to take their tea in his study, instead.

That's when Hermione had recognized the special wards on the top drawer under his desk. She knew the shimmer of a ward when she saw one, and it had been worth the risk to check it out.

The next time she was in, she learned it indeed was warded- with blood wards.

Tomorrow she would use her chance to break in.

How hard could it be? Abraxas was away in the Ministry, Lucius happily in his honeymoon, most of the house-elves out of the way and her access to the Manor not so unfamiliar anymore.

She'd break the whole damn desk if it need be. That drawer would get open.

Those thoughts in her mind, Hermione fell to a restless sleep.

* * *

Water splashed to her face and the scare left her gasping. She had dozed off- or knocked out more like it. She didn't remember losing consciousness this easily under Bellatrix's wand- she was losing her game, seriously.

"Awake. We're not done."

The commanding drawl was the least of her concerns, though a tiny part of her mind insisted she knew whom it belong to. Hermione groaned instead, feeling the burning pain in her wrists and ankles.

Trying to move, she understood her discomfort was due to the chains. Her seat was not of cushion as well. The hard board scratched the open wounds on her back- probably from when she writhed in pain.

She licked her lips, no spit left to moisten them however. She was thirsty. All the screaming hadn't done her any good.

"My foolish father has taken my advice of hiring you to another level it seems. Not that I should complain— I have you and what you desire."

Fluttering open, her eyes focused in hardship on a leather-bound book that the blond man waved to her face. It was black, certain gold letters sticking out to the dark cover. Although she couldn't see well, Hermione could put back together why she was here and for  _what_.

Trying to break away the Diary, she had got caught.

It was either because of an early leave from the honeymoon or a babbling house-elf, Hermione didn't care. At the moment, her rising anger was aimed at herself.

How could she have fallen to a simple Stupefy?

Granted, it was a useful spell, one she had used many times back in the War. She should have easily deflected it, though.

Oh, she blamed it on the blood wards. She had had a hard time getting around it, and just when she was trying to exploit her Black blood that was now conjoined to the Malfoys through Narcissa and Lucius' wedding, the groom in question had stealthily presented himself— his wand foremost, actually.

"I wonder, Ms. Granger, what were you trying to achieve by acquiring this particular gift?"

Hermione snorted. Pain be damned. If anyone thought a part of Voldemort's soul as a gift, they were mental.

"That's it?" he asked, impatience under the mockery in his tone.

"Let me list you what I know then. The eager little bookworm you are from what I'm informed, you should soak up these information."

Hermione closed her eyes. The only thing that blocked the tingling and shivers running down her body from her mind was the distracting clang of Lucius Malfoy's expensive shoes on the stone.

"Long lost relative of the Dagworth-Grangers- the daughter of late Arthur's nephew, in fact. Even I heard of your tragedy. Toddler went missing while her mother was distracted. The house-elf that cared for you was punished severely but it didn't bring you back. Mother fell ill and died of grief. Your father, Arthur's nephew, never remarried. Arthur Dagworth-Granger outlived him, too, I believe."

He tutted. "Tragic. Truly is. Years pass with no news. Then you arrive here, three months ago to find your heritage. Among the purest- unlike the Mudblood filth you were thought to be born as."

Hermione tried the chains while Malfoy went on to brief her about her current standing with Evan Rosier and his father. Her ridicule of a courtship with Rosier which known widely to be over, and the few absurd articles on her relationship with Abraxas seemed to irritate him overall. They were old news. And besides, she didn't quite understand why he seemed keen make a stock of her life.

It would do to her advantage, however. Surely, this was a critical moment to use her wandless magic. So far she had been accomplished only with protective and offensive spells. Only a few of them at that.

Simple Alohomora didn't work for these.

With how little she could draw from her power in this miserable state, maybe she should reconsider her means of escape.

Hermione didn't fancy another Crucio.

"How  _interesting-_ " -the emphasis and stretch on the word brought Hermione's attention to her captor- "-that you left a mark in the high society so easily? Before this year, Dagworth-Granger was a name not mentioned in the passing. Quickly,  _you_  fit- claim your name and ground your presence."

His grey eyes were hard but unfocused. He stared straight ahead, as if she was not even there. His frown deepened, being set off from what Hermione didn't know. She didn't dare to breathe. Something about him signalled that he was so close to being thrown the edge of enrage. Blinking a few times to get her sight sharpened, Hermione noticed how firmly Lucius gripped the back of the chair that sat empty across from her. She could observe as his jaw clenched and unclenched.

It was an alarming sight, alright. But to see the man she once feared for life, this young -younger than herself- lessened any thought that he was a threat. Even as she was chained to a chair, already having tasted a few torture curses, Lucius Malfoy's greenness was painfully obvious.

No lines hardening his face, no haunted look to his eyes -one that showed experience- and no sovereignty that used to be the mark of this man. His platinum blond hair was long as always, and for the first time, ever since knowing the man since her second year, did Hermione think the hair style to be less than striking and masculine.

He hadn't grown to his looks yet- not grown to the Malfoy name and its power.

How old was he? Twenty? Twenty-two? Four important years her junior, currently.

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking back to Malfoy Sr. she knew from the nineties. Sure, the man had been influential. Feared and respected. At least among purebloods. Until Voldemort saw no use to him. Hermione remembered his failed attempts with the Diary and the Prophecy. He had been incarcerated for the latter one. And then during the war, the man had become a contrast to his usual self: weak and small. Aside from his failures, his flee of the Battle with his family was well-known too.

Lucius Malfoy never seemed to have grown a back-bone. His money and name had talked for his stead, always. And having been stripped of both, especially in fifth year, had revealed a man Hermione no longer dreaded.

Thinking about all of that, Hermione realized perhaps it was all because of his father's loss.

Hermione already suspected he wanted Abraxas Malfoy dead. Only reason she could think of was for claiming the Malfoy privilege all to himself, along with the freedom to do as he pleased. Love for a father was unheard of to him, apparently.

And without Abraxas Malfoy, there had been no one to reign Lucius.

The young man in front of her, already cruel with his spells and ideals, had been set free to pursue Voldemort. And it had been inevitable for him to armor himself with his name and privilege. To become the man feared by most, if not more than Voldemort himself. All for his influence, money and cruelty.

Without any of those, age included, Lucius Malfoy was currently fanatical and blind only. And due to the presence of his father, he was restrained. Docile. Harmless.

Hermione doubted he had in himself to cast the Killing Curse, actually.

Having cast the curse a handful of times in the war herself, Hermione knew when a person was cut from that cloth.

Apparently Voldemort was only newly corrupting the society through fear. Because she was up to date with the news thanks to Abraxas and her daily exchanges, she knew the Death Eaters had started with minor attacks. A lost Muggle-born here and there, a family or two murdered, and even one missing pureblood of the known Muggle-sympathizers to make the message come across.

None of them had the Dark Mark around the place of crime. It was early times to brand their crimes- or own their success as they see it.

Lucius Malfoy, marked or not, was not a member of the Death Eaters who had dirtied their hands. That much was obvious.

She doubted today would be the day he became a killer, but chained in his dungeons, Hermione didn't really want to take the chance.

"I want to know, Ms. Granger!" A sharp intake of breath from Lucius Malfoy brought the two of them back to the lovely company of each other's.

"You see, there is a memory troubling my mind. I see my dear school in ruins. The yard divided to two sides, and across I see myself and Narcissa. And my Lord, quite unlike how is now. Snake-like. A monster, truly."

It felt like cold water washed through her veins- from head to toe. Her pounding heart tried to distract her from what Malfoy was saying but she was all ears for the next word that would come out of his mouth.

_This couldn't be._

"The Dark Lord kills my wife, suffice it to say. I won't bore you with the details of the memory. Not when you know it better than I do. It is  _your_  memory."

Her chapped lips be damned, she replied out of reflex. It was like the day with Bellatrix all over again. "It's not. I don't know anything you say."

Hermione barely registered, with how unseeing her eyes were, that Malfoy gripped the back of the chair with both hands now. He leaned further to look her in the eye, and the hatred in there was only reflected by her dread.

_There is no way._

"My father recovers from a fatal disease. Not even the best healers can explain why, but he is indeed alive. He, then, closes himself off the world, stops his money transactions and cuts his  _alliances_."

He is hissing the words between his locked teeth by now, seething with so much anger that Hermione wasn't sure how no accidental magic wasn't yet burning her.

"His business exploits are not as foolish as his desolatation."

Hermione's head twitches, an additional movement to her shaking arms. It was not because of cold, and not the residual magic after Crucio. Perhaps slightly because of the latter.

"I don't know-"

"You know  _exactly-_ " He reigned what would have been an exponential rage. Lowering his voice to reach calmness, he tried again. "Ms. Granger, do you know how I came by this memory? Your memory?"

"It's not. It's not mine. I don't know anything."

"I stole it- such skilled Occlumens as I are capable of such theft against Legilimency."

There was a silence in which Hermione forgot how to breathe-  _no way. Can he do that? Did he-_

"It's an odd memory. Especially because Narcissa is quite aged, compared to now."

Hermione's grip on reason seemed to slip away with every word that Lucius uttered.

This would have disastrous consequences.

If she was revealed, to Lucius Malfoy no less, she would lose everything. She was no Order. She had no one that she could depend on that would rescue her or help her.

She was only armed with knowledge of the future and the skill of the powerful witch that she was.

One person mattered, but was not enough.

She shouldn't have messed with the Malfoys. Shouldn't have used Legilimency on Lucius, Godric curse it all!

She just- that was the best plan she had had.

"I thought quite long on it- how it could be possible. It was a memory, it must have been  _lived_. And it was yours. You see, there seemed to be no explanation other than-"

Hermione shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks already. Dread had finally snapped to despair.

"No," she wailed.

"-that you are from the future."

Hermione yelped at the pain of her hair being yanked, and she was suddenly forced to stare back at Lucius Malfoy.

The hurt in her neck stayed even when Lucius released her. Apparently having found a confirmation to his suspicions with how he foully cursed Merlin back and forth.

"Tea would serve well, now." The addition of the new voice was nearly missed because of her crying. There was no mistaking who emerged from the shadows of the dungeons, however. Abraxas must have been silently observing. "We should switch to the dining room, right Lucius? I taught you better manners than this."

* * *

The dining room was a place Walburga Black had claimed her own for many years now. Grimmauld Place was hers by right, the entirety of it with how uninterested Orion was to their living quarters.

Uncle Arcturus had granted the house as a wedding gift, thinking back to it. Walburga hadn't touched the antique decour of the previous Blacks that lived here, but she had indulged with changes here in the dining room.

Looking at the grand wooden table which was christened fairly recently, Walburga couldn't be more fond of the room. It was perhaps the tall-backed chairs at each head of the table, sharing one with her lover, had made this room quite special.

She took her tea here, wined and dined her society friends and had the most romantic dinners with her beloved.

Walburga sighed. Anticipating the moment he arrived, all she wanted was for his eyes to search for her own.

She would love his grip on her waist, his charming smile that would win her heart, and his heated kisses that made her feel wanted. Desirable.

Oh, how the young man couldn't take his hands off her!

Walburga smiled and absentmindedly corrected the knife on the napkin. She was checking the table in the meanwhile.

Regulus was already in bed, and her older son out of sight as well.

Walburga had ordered the elves to not disturb her and her guest. Food was served already. Hot and ready for her lover.

Not only the food, actually.

Burning from head to toe, Walburga was interrupted from her musings by Kreacher. The house-elf bowed deeply and announced the arrival of her guest.

She screeched for the elf to get lost, and hurriedly welcomed her beloved. Ah, how she could not bear their separation!

This was a special day, too. Since spotting him leaving the Malfoy wedding with some tart, they had argued. Massively. Walburga had given the ultimatum.

He had chose to stay. Apologized for his daft mistake, and  _begged_  for her forgiveness.

Today, he would beg for more. More than just forgiveness.

Spotting the arrival enter through the doors of the dining room, Walburga took in his tailored robes fitted to his broad chest and muscular shoulders. His hair was pristinely combed back, a diligent look that made her heart flutter as his smile. Not as much as the lust that shone in his green eyes, though.

Something about the way he looked at her, as if she was the only woman in the world, pleased Walburga so much that it made her feel extraordinarily special. More special than being a Black.

"You're here," Walburga declared. It was flattering to see him crawl back to her lap. Even if he was occasionally  _distracted._

"No place else I want to be," he replied and chanced to cup her cheek.

She leaned to his touch and purred: "Better not be, Rabastan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I had a hard time writing this chapter but thanks to lovely JuliSt (on ffnet) whom only recently I had the chance to meet with and acquire as my alpha reader, I somehow got this done. She helped me immensely to order my thoughts and get the hype back. A huge thanks to her attentive ears -or eyes, as we were emailing each other :D- and marvelous input to my outline.
> 
> -Ydream08


	12. Chapter 12

As hospitable as Malfoys could be, there was a limit to their courtesy. They haven't released the chains, for example. And not given back her wand too.

What they did was help her to her new chair (much more comfortable than the one she had occupied the last three hours), pour her a cup of tea and add a few drops of enervating potion in it.

Hermione was glad. Although she could not drink the tea (hands tied, remember?), she acknowledged the kindness. It was more than how she had been treated by the Malfoys. She would exclude Abraxas out of her statement, with how he had been dead during the war, though.

"Why do you assume, Miss Dagworth-Granger here is responsible for my actions, son?"

It almost sounded like Abraxas defended her. Hermione couldn't decide what she should feel- everything was crumbling in front of her eyes.

Her secrets. Her mission. Her alliances.

Abraxas Malfoy defended her, for Godrik's sake!

"Father, this is hardly the time to question me while-"

"I decide what will be discussed. Now, I asked you a question. You weren't explaining yourself enough, that I'm sure is the reason why Ms. Dagworth-Granger couldn't come forth to soothe your nerves?"

The way Abraxas smiled at her, as if to convey that she would spill everything in all due time, all the while ridiculing Lucius on his temper was absolutely aggravating. No wonder Lucius wanted him dead.

For Hermione, Abraxas Malfoy was a silent reader and a proper patient. And recently a great conversationalist.

But for Lucius, his father must be restraining, condensing and prim.

Good that she cured him.

"I have reason to believe she has tampered with our minds. Oblivated both you and me. I have managed to procure a memory of hers that gave away her time-traveling tendencies."

Hermione heard Lucius hiss first, then Abraxas spoke softly, wand already out, "Let me see."

Unbelieving of what occured right in front of her, Hermione watched as Abraxas intruded in his son's head.

"You forget who taught you Occlumency, son." he tutted. Sighing he added, "Disgraceful."

Lucius didn't speak a few moments after that. Hermione could see from the corner of her eyes that he held his head in exhaustion, resting his elbows on the table while his hands covered his face.

Hermione had to concentrate on Malfoy Sr. though.

"It appears that my son's suspicion isn't unfounded."

He rose his eyebrows and his command for her to speak came across crystal clear.

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione whispered much like previously. She wasn't thinking about her replies any more. She felt tired and hopeless, but her survival instinct demanded her to deny everything.

" _Hermione_." It was the first time Abraxas had uttered her given name, and the way he used it, the regretful glance to the ground in exasperation, it felt like he was reprimanding a child. She was a grown woman, Merlin curse him! "I won't tolerate lying to me."

_So lying to everyone else is acceptable?_ Hermione thought and figured this was yet another reason why Lucius was a faulty person.

She wondered how Sirius came out not half-bad in a similar environment. These were the family of his cousin!

"Now, start up!"

A tense silence reigned where Abraxas' face fell further with each passing moment. Hermione wouldn't talk.

"See reason, Miss Dagworth-Granger." He re-positioned himself in his armchair. "We can't possibly let you go without information. If our minds are indeed altered, we will kindly request you to undo your handy work. I could do myself, actually, but then I wouldn't show my trust in you. I hope we will end this day as allies, and trust is the most vital step."

Seeing Hermione's comprehension, Abraxas smiled and rose from his chair.

"Come, son. Let's give Miss Dagworth-Granger some time to herself."

Lucius slowly rose from his chair but it wasn't him that Hermione focused at. She stared at Abraxas unbelievably. He could not possibly mean what he insinuated!

In simple words, either cooperate or meet with an Avada. Or it could be good old starving in the dungeons all she cared.

"You can call on the elves if you ever need us, Hermione." And with that they left the room.

* * *

Malfoy elves were loyal foremost to their lord. The main reason Lucius' own, a young house-elf by the name of Dobby, had not hesitated to inform Abraxas of Lucius' request. Apparently, he had wanted lone time with Ms. Dagworth-Granger.

Abraxas knew better than to conclude his son was interested in the young woman the way most were. Having married recently, Abraxas had seen with his own eyes how taken his son was with the Black girl. She was younger than him, by five years, a recent graduate of Hogwarts at that, so it was indeed surprising for Lucius to feel so strongly. They had not shared many years together in school and the marriage contract was made without the two of them properly meeting at first.

Of course, Miss Dagworth-Granger was more than easy enough on the eyes to be suayed, but Abraxas had his own suspicions as to his son's early return from the honeymoon.

It could possibly be a short stop during his honeymoon, honestly.

It would be smarter, Abraxas mused, but didn't waste any more time to ponder over his son's grand plan.

He would see for himself.

To say that Abraxas had a headache after listening to what Lucius accused Miss Dagworth-Granger of, rather than her screams, was no understatement.

He would have rathered his son to be a better host, but he would not blame the child for his lack of manners. It had been hard filling the place of his lost mother and Abraxas had lacked a few things in the young heir's education it seemed.

One thing being to teach him how to use that wand of his.

Finally appraising the opportunity to calm the waters, Abraxas directed all of them to the dining room.

It was unfortunate that Miss Dagworth-Granger was not courteous enough to share her plans, but Abraxas was known for his steel patience. Well, until midnight was long enough for her to decide.

In the meantime, he and his son had to have a short chat.

"What is the meaning of this?" Abraxas cut short and started with his main point. His son was not obnoxious to overstep, but to capture and torture his private healer was indeed disobedience. And utter foolishness.

The woman was recently claimed as the heir of the Dagworth-Granger's, second-in-line, and her proximity with the Potters was no secret. Her favor with the Rosiers remained as well, Abraxas knew, in contrast to what the newspapers wrote.

Making a list of the woman's connections, it wouldn't do well to forget the Head Auror Jonas Jorgensen.

It was in the passing they came across with the Head Auror, on thursdays most of the time like today. The man had grown a habit of asking of Miss Dagworth-Granger.

Apparently her registry records had passed by him during the arrangement of her heritage, to give the final say, of course. And her occupation as a Healer had been a memorable information to Auror Jorgensen.

Naturally, he had made the connection between his recent discovery and the Witch Weekly articles of Abraxas and the young woman.

Abraxas had been irritated by Auror Jorgensen's boldness to even pry for confirmation on his suspicions, but having grounded his acquaintance, with how frequently Abraxas conversed with the new Head of the Department, pleased the elder Malfoy in the end.

So, no, he didn't want the woman dead in their dungeons. Also not in their dining room.  _Dead nowhere_ \- Merlin help him!

"Father, whomever she claims to be- the woman is not! Today, I found her breaking into your study room-"

Abraxas turned to look into his son's fervent eyes. He looked like the little child he used to be, who had always been offended and tried to shout his righteousness. His wife had been wrong with giving Lucius tolerance he did not deserve.

Knowing that, Abraxas failed to tolerate him. "To the point, son."

Lucius held his breath and his eyes hardened. Slowly sliding the book on Abraxas' desk, he gritted out: "She stole this."

Seeing the Diary Riddle had entrusted with Abraxas left bitter taste in his mouth. He had put it out of sight for certain reasons.

"She couldn't have." Abraxas knew his wards well. No one could have undone the blood wards if they were not of his own.

Then it clicked. "You did."

Watching his son squirm in front of him passed by his enrage for his disobedience. Abraxas couldn't believe it! Had his own flesh and blood betrayed him?

"What is the meaning of this?" he roared once again and was met with horror on his son's face.

It had been so long since he had seen Lucius this pale, his mouth agape and eyes wide in shock. His heir had learned well to disguise such powerless displays of emotions. He was an exemplary Slytherin. But he would never be a deserving Malfoy; he did not grow up and learned how to navigate.

For Malfoys, people would step out of way. A Malfoy would never even  _try_ to shove someone from their paths- much like Lucius did.

Clenching his hand into a fist, Abraxas was in the middle of restraining his magic and only intending to shout at his insolent son, when the door to his study opened.

Tiny squeaks and grunts filled the room. Abraxas' eyes quickly landed on the source, which was Dobby pulling the leg of the young woman who had just entered- and the elf seemed desperate to remove the witch but failed visibly.

"I can wait?" said Miss Dagworth-Granger.

She was out of chains and walking about his Manor unsupervised (Abraxas narrowed his eyes at Dobby, knowing the elf was the culprit). The blond man knew only a few things that could make his day worse: one of them being running out of his cigar.

"Sit." Abraxas' command was well-received by his son, but Miss Dagworth-Granger was stood standing still.

Sighing, Abraxas turned to arrange his pipe so that at least he could have a small peace of mind. His son was going to be the death of him!

Puffing his pipe, he asked: "Wine?"

Miss Dagworth-Granger blinked at him. "No?"

Abraxas grunted. "Sit."

This time, the young witch obeyed, but with how she struggled to walk, Abraxas suspected she was exhausted to refuse again.

Catching sight of Dobby, Abraxas ordered some appetizer for their guest. The jumpy elf vanished instantly.

Nobody spoke while Miss Dagworth-Granger took her first bite. It was only her chewing that filled their ears even after that.

It was a planned move on Abraxas' side (he was waiting for the witch to crack) but it was to try his son foremost. Patience was key to everything. Chaining and torturing guests was not the way around for getting answers.

That would be today's lesson.

Abraxas was glad he had long years ahead of him to teach his temperamental overgrown child. Lucius was twenty-three already for Merlin's sake!

"I can't tell you everything." The witch had a tired voice when she spoke. She sounded defeated- Abraxas couldn't blame her for that. It was a miracle she hadn't passed out for good.

Sitting in his armchair to give all his attention to the tale, Abraxas didn't miss Miss Dagworth-Granger's hateful stare at his son. "You know too much already."

Shifting in her seat to face him, Abraxas noticed how ramrod straight she sat- the amount of determination her posture radiated was astounding. She had had time to drink her spiked tea before coming here, apparently.

"You would have died from Dragon Pox." Her confession brought a hungry gleam to his son's eyes, and Abraxas had only a second to notice it for he had to pay attention to Miss Dagworth-Granger and everything that was about to spill from her mouth.

"I don't know how it happened- why it happened- it just  _did_. The next thing I know after saving you is that Mr. Malfoy- Lucius- tracked me down. You requested my presence."

Her correction on his son's name miffed Abraxas. She was older than him, being twenty-six herself. Not the age gap that would require such formal address in known company.

"You took me off-guard, so to speak. And I obliviated you. It was the safest choice- you wouldn't know me.  _Nobody_  would know me. Exactly how you were cured would stay secret, yeah?"

She took a deep breath, but hunched over, with her elbows on her knees.

"There is a cure of Dragon Pox in your own time?" Lucius interjected.

Abraxas didn't hush him for one, even if the question simply stated the obvious.

Both Malfoys needed the confirmation.

It came. First a groan, then a barely audible, "Yes."

"I'm really a Healer. I was on duty when this old lady came in with dragon pox- so I traveled back in time while I had her medication on me. Which happened to save your life."

Her eyes found his own and Abraxas faced her as he would always. Ever since enjoying Miss Dagworth-Granger's company, he had become accustomed to meet her gaze as long as she dared. She dared for so long. It had happened much regularly at the very first few visits. Especially whenever he caught her looking at the books he read alongside her in the Manor Library.

Her childish curiosity to his doings had been amusing. It reminded him of a younger Lucius. His son used to be much interested in his works and the family business in general that he used to track him in the house whenever Abraxas was about.

Going to Hogwarts and finding new faces to look up to, his son ended up sharing less and less with him. Of course, the loss of his mother when he was just twelve had snapped an accord.

Hermione, however, she seemed to have preserved that enthusiasm to learn- find out. She was lost more than Lucius- his boy had grown to a man to wed a woman. However this young witch, dying to find her parents, left the impression that she was working for a goal in a stranger territory.

It was amusing, to say the least.

His sickness had of course changed how he viewed her situation, but it was a fact that older age and his distance with the Dark Lord and his partial disappearance, had aided the process that had softened him.

"Mr. Malfoy- Lucius knew of my part in your curation, however." At the memory she scrunched her face. "I had to obliviate you too-" -at that she turned to his son- "-because you knew what I did. And you  _did_  attack me for it."

His son opened his mouth to interject again, but Hermione was faster. "That's when you took that memory, I think. The Battle and Narcissa Malfoy's death- your wife's."

She scowled further. "You dug her grave, her and Draco's- your son. I never understood how you could have done something  _so_ …"

Abraxas watched as she shook her head, wiped her face and took another breath.

"When was this?" Abraxas asked with a raspy voice. The dread clawing up to his neck depressed him. His whole family dead? His heir? No one left to the Malfoy name? Perhaps Lucius was alive, but if Lucius' son -someone a witch her age used to know- died, there was hardly any hope for the continuation of the line.

That was the logical conclusion- Abraxas didn't want to think about the blonde witch he had just named as his daughter-in-law dead and her grave freshly dug.

_Salazar help them._

"I was eighteen. Draco and I were in the same year in Hogwarts. That's all you should know."

Abraxas had looked at the memory as he had sorted through his son's mind. It was a disaster, he knew. A scene he did not wish for his family. He didn't wish it on the wizarding world either.

For their sacred school to be tarnished? Blood to be spilled?  _Of those so young?_

"What can we do to prevent it?"

The question was so abrupt that it took awhile for Abraxas to understand it. It cut the palpable despair of his thoughts so sharply that hearing it actually hurt-  _why hadn't that been his initial response?_

He found Hermione fidgeting at her chair and hardly meeting to answer Lucius' question.

"I watched my wife's murder, Miss Granger." Lucius' hiss clicked Abraxas' mind into action once again. The woman in front of them was from the future, nothing she knew had happened yet. "I  _know_ of my son's death. Not everyone is blessed with such knowledge, and I'd be a fool to let history repeat itself."

Abraxas wouldn't have seen the quick glance Hermione sent towards him if he wasn't scrutinizing the witch so closely, intent on making a plan to change everything.

At first Abraxas had thought she had looked at him for some kind of support or intervention, but then he dropped his gaze to his desk to see the leather-bound notebook that Lucius had presented to him. He didn't know why it occurred to Hermione just  _now_  that the book was there but he let that question slip by.

Hermione had risked being found out to steal this, hadn't she?

Remembering his first experience with the foul thing, Abraxas grabbed the book. The motion didn't go unnoticed by neither of his company, and both pair of eyes watched as Abraxas sifted through its blank pages with an irate look that furrowed his brows.

Abraxas hadn't intended to ward the gift -Riddle had landed it to him with a vague command to never lose it- but it had been only convenient to ward the drawer he also put one of his family heirlooms. One that he had had around since Lucius' contract with the Blacks was drawn out. It was the match of his son's signet ring- an heirloom to be given to the bride.

That little ring removed from the drawer, there only remained this diary.

Clearing his throat, Abraxas put the diary back into the drawer. He could feel Hermione's eyes as he cut his finger to seal the ward back with his blood.

He then turned to her, waving his hand for her to continue, "I understand there is more to the story than that? And surely, we can be of assistance?"

* * *

_Dear James,_

Hermione smiled as she addressed to Harry's father- the young version of him that she had had the chance to meet.

_I hope my letter finds you well, too. Receiving your letter has been quite satisfactory, especially hearing that you are halfway done with your assignments. I will take my chance to assume that it is because of the visit of your friends due upcoming week. Your mother must have given you the push I am unable to currently. Pass my gratitude and love, both to your mother and father._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

She had been late to reply to his letter. It's sat in her room for the past week that she spent most of her time in the Malfoy Manor. The owl which had brought it must have been quite confused with her frequent Apparitions.

Well, it was better late than none. She did reply.

* * *

"What does she say?" shot Sirius, as James unfolded the letter from a small tawny owl. James rushed to open it and his mate's eagerness only fueled his enthusiasm.

The first few letters had been all about his homework and school, but the last few times he and Hermione had managed to write about everyday things like how James poured honey over Sirius' face to wake him up, or which of them flew over the posts faster, even the better, managed to get Remus laugh snot from his nose.

Hermione, in return, mentioned about the Ministry dudes whom she found funny. She would doodle their faces in the letter even, and the match of the stupid things they said to her to their funny faces always drew laughter from James. She was awful with drawing. There was also the news of how she had saved a kitten close to Mulpepper's -an Apothecary that James had no idea how Hermione had come across knowing it was located in the Knockturn Alley- and she had nurtured the sick kitten back to health. She called him Sneezy, and apparently it was a hobby to count how many times it sneezed consecutively. Hermione would assure James that she had shown the kitten to a specialist, but apparently nothing was amiss with it.

_Part Kneazles are always mysterious breeds,_  Hermione wrote to James.

Of course, some of their exchanges were private, with how James found it easy to open up to Hermione about Lily. His mates had grown the habit of either laughing or telling him to let it go, which Hermione never did.

She gave nice tips, actually.

It was her idea not to send lilies with the letter James wished to send to his crush, and instead just ask her about her holiday in general. Without writing any endearments or 'I love you's.

It had worked.

A letter did came in reply that asked about his holiday, which had James running around their cottage in Godric's hollow like an overjoyed rampant lunatic.

That was last week. This week was important and he had been waiting for Hermione's soothing words eagerly.

It was just that tomorrow everyone would leave. Sirius, Remus and Peter, all.

They had been here for the past month; Sirius one week more than the rest. And Peter's mother had floo called just the other day before James had owled Hermione, to remind Peter that she would pick him up so that they could get ready for the new semester.

Remus wanted these last two weeks till September to be with his mother as well. Having heard Peter leaving tomorrow, he had decided on the same day to bid his farewells.

Only Sirius being as indecisive as he was, James had begged him to stay. The Potters offered to pick his school supplies along with James and commented many times that he would be welcome in their house, but Sirius sadly but insistently declined.

He moped around whenever he refused James' mother, though. So James never really understood why he sad no to begin with, but he guessed Sirius didn't want to stretch his luck. Which was bullshit, in James' opinion.

"C'mon, mate. Read it, will ya?"

To say that Sirius was an impatient person would be the understatement of the century. James doubted he could live as a Muggle. He was already going forever about how cool it would be to have their Apparition license. Not that James disagreed, but he could see his mate popping in and out of  _adjacent_  rooms.

That could be fun, if he could do that to Lily's room.

His cheeks burning at the thought but lips tugged in a smile, James finally ripped the letter to distract himself and read it out loud to Sirius. He was sure Remus was listening in but Peter had gone to the loo.

" _James,_

_I think you can manage two weeks on your own. Not that long of a time to be separated from your friends. Say hi to Remus, Sirius and Peter for me, and send them off without crying, yeah? You're a big boy."_

Remus and Sirius both mumbled hi's but at that last comment they snickered indeed. Maybe James should read this in private, or skip a few lines or something.

" _Besides, those two weeks could be well spent if you can go over the the text on Animagi I sent you the last time. That should solve your antler problem. I had never thought to research about transforming_ back _, mind you. That or you better pick nice hats if you're planning to be around Lily._ "

Another round of laughter, this time Peter was in as well. Great.

" _I don't doubt with how much you write about those mock-Quidditch matches, both you and Sirius will be back on the school team as chasers again this year! It must be nice to have a talented friend as Sirius to be there to pass the Quaffale with- never forget, it isn't necessarily the Seeker who wins the game! I'd love to come and watch you guys fly at least once, but I don't really know how once you are all shipped off to school._

_As you asked, I wrote a few books you might consider as a gift to Remus,_ -"

"Gift? You're going to buy me a book? Which one?"

James coughed instead of answering and indeed skipped a few lines this time. Honestly, it was surprising how Remus butted in first with how Sirius was mentioned already, but James continued regardless.

" _Love, Hermione_."

It was safer to pass the last paragraph on her advice about how to greet Lily. With the way Hermione put it -coming up with scenarios, considering the outcomes and the possibility of the said-scenario to occur to start with- James didn't doubt that he would unintentionally cause one of his mates to die of laughter.

"She is nice," Peter commented, to which Sirius and James nodded.

Remus however was stuck on the part where there was a  _list_  of books that he could find interesting…

To say that he chased James down in the cottage, a bit out in the garden, and finally back to their lounging room, was not understatement.

"Fine! Surprise it is, Potter. You are lucky the moon was just last week."

"I'll outrun you whenever, Lupin."

Their conversation switched to the times James had not outrun Remus or Lily ever. He avoided their attempts to grab a hold of him, but James wasn't particularly a good runner. Peter was there to restrain the chaser party -not James- and that was when he usually would make himself scarce.

Sirius didn't join their conversation for some reason.

James knew as he had an eye out for him ever since he insisted James to read Hermione's letter. His mate looked happy, which was more than great. There was a fond smile stuck on his face, and his eyes were glassy in a pleased kind of way but not particularly at the topic of their current discussion.

He sighed couple of times, too, which worried James, actually.

How he wished Sirius would have just accepted staying longer in the cottage! Then James could have cornered him for some interrogation- but now, Sirius would leave the first thing in the morning.

 


	13. Chapter 13

He didn't want to leave. Simple as that! Why would he leave the chance to be woken up by James' pranks or join breakfast of Aunt Phemia going over the day's schedule and Uncle Flement's weird bread toppings?

It got even better as the hours passed and he and James played Quidditch, helped Aunt Phemia with the garden and laughed at the mishaps from the potions lab.

That had been the first week Sirius and James were by themselves. They would go out in the evening as a family, Sirius would stay awake longer at night afterwards for a late tea and simply lounging in warmer night weather with the rest of the household.

It was more than a holiday. Sitting around the hearth with the Potters and laughing at James' commentary or asking about how Uncle Flemont's potions are coming along, was basically a dream come true.

Sirius rarely wished to go to bed. He snuck into James' room, talked about one thing or the other ("Funny thing Jamie… today when I went to call for Aunt Phemia, I noticed some lilies among the flowers she was planting. Did you know?") and Sirius would end up forcing him awake until three in the morning and when they both finally fell asleep, it wouldn't be until afternoon that Sirius would awake. That if James was merciful.

It took a hell long time to get his hair free of honey, and the feeling of stickiness stayed on his skin for some time, too.

In the end of that week, when Sirius decided it couldn't possibly get better than it was, it did.

Remus and Peter joined them.

Those nearly one and a half months were Sirius' prize for a job well done in school and overall endurance of a whole year.

It was never a thrill to go back home. Even if it was only for a month at the start of the holidays. And now two more weeks until the new semester.

Sometimes Sirius didn't understand how Reggie did it. Given, his baby brother didn't yet know the relative freedom of Hogwarts, but still. His brother was too patient compared to him. And silent. Whenever he snuck in Sirius' room after midnight, he would climb to his bed and lie there. Sirius knew his brother would wipe away his eyes and wheeze, but he never said anything. Sirius couldn't say anything himself. He would be too worn for talking even.

Some days were just worse than others.

Two brothers fell asleep like that, curled up at the opposite sides of the bed, facing each other but far away. Even that was enough, Sirius knew.

Reggie would be there in the morning, which was why Sirius was accustomed to waking earlier and sending him off to his own room.

When he was with Potters, it was bliss to be able to sleep in. A habit Sirius was building for Hogwarts as well.

It was a second nature to live with the Potters, to chime in the conversation, crack a joke with Peter or mess around Remus. Even if his mates were gone, having Jamie and the Potters was enough. Sirius would feel welcome- he would feel he  _belonged_.

He couldn't stay longer though. Although it was fine to pretend Uncle Flemont and Aunt Phemia were his parents and Jamie his brother, all of them a big happy family, Sirius knew deep inside how he didn't exactly fit.

The Potters had black hair, sure, but Sirius's was straight while James' curled. If Sirius narrowed his eyes to look harder, the blue of Aunt Phemia's eyes reminded him of his own grey eyes but they were not in the end. His bone structure didn't remind Uncle Flemont as well. The elder wizard was lean, almost lanky, with a long face and small nose. James took after him, only his eyes were hazel thanks to his mother's eyes mixing with his father's brown ones. Sirius, however, was broader at the shoulders, as years passed that became more obvious compared to James. They were around the same height, but glancing at Sirius' face would give away his unlikeness.

His strong jaw and thin lips stood out. And his dimple, one at his left cheek. Around the Potters where his smile never dropped, those were the main distinct signs Sirius Black was descendent of the Noble and Ancient Nut House.

Huffing at the reminder, he dragged his feet to downstairs, his trunk following with brutish noise.

Aunt Phemia had asked if he wanted his trunk to be taken by the elves, but Sirius declined. He knew he didn't want Kreacher setting foot here, with how the Potter elves would be unable to enter the Black fortress.

His father was becoming rather paranoid, with all the new wards, but it wasn't Sirius' place to comment.

"Can't I convince you to stay?" asked James with a pout to his face that constricted Sirius' heart. He wanted to stay. But he couldn't… He just… staying longer would mean he would burden the family and take advantage of their kindness. He would not do that. He knew how to be a proper guest, and he was more than happy to be one. A guest. As long as they let him. Merlin knew Sirius wished they let him forever.

He didn't want to jeopardize his chance of coming next summer, though.

"Mate, it's been great. Really. Thank you so much, Aunt Phemia, for having me. It's been amazing, but I should go." Not that his people would await him. "The same next summer?"

"Damn sure!" James gasped, slightly offended.

At his cursing, Aunt Phemia's roll of her eyes and Uncle Flemont's snicker were well received by Sirius as he made to hug his mate.

"I'll see you back at Hogwarts."

They parted and Sirius said his farewells to the Potters to floo Three Broomsticks. From there, he would floo Grimmauld Place. His father only allowed access to the house from Hogsmeade, the Ministry and his hotels. Not that anyone simply could floo to Grimmauld Place from either of those locations. They had to be a Black. And a fool.

_Like me_ , Sirius thought bitterly and called out the Three Broomsticks.

Stepping inside the tiny pub, Sirius shook his head to clear his hair off soot. The place looked very much the same from his visits during third year. Bustling with people, dim in light and smelling of baked bread and mead.

Catching the sight of Madame Rosmerta rushing behind the counter to fill two butterbeers, Sirius reckoned he could indulge himself. What was wrong with a quick stop before going home?

Any excuse to delay it was welcome, in fact.

"Rosie!" Sirius called as he climbed the stool and leaned over the counter. Madame Rosmerta had distributed the drinks and filled new ones by the time Sirius had got seated. Noticing that both the dishes were cleaned and meals were cooked with magic, Sirius summarized that the charming matron couldn't maintain more spells to hand out the drinks too.

Rosie was an amazing witch, but to one-handedly run the pub at a rush hour was unthinkable. It was just time for lunch, really.

"Black, sit down and be a good boy, will ye?"

And the matron went to schmooze with the customers. Sirius grinned after her and made himself comfortable. Anything that could occupy him was game.

Not that Sirius expected the doors of the pub to reveal a young woman Sirius was desperate to see again.

His heart leaping with excitement, Sirius made sure he was seeing right. The young woman wore dark blue robes, a white button-up shirt peaked from the loose cape. Her monstrous curls were tied back in a high ponytail, which revealed a pretty face and charming eyes. Sirius found himself gulping down, especially when her eyes met his.

He smiled and awkwardly waved. No, Godric- he should act cool. Act cool, his mind screamed and for that, he opened his legs more and slouched his back to give an air of nonchalance.

Poor thinking, it was.

The tiny and high bar stool didn't aid Sirius in his new position, and losing his balance, Sirius most spectacularly fell. It didn't help his charisma that he fell on his suitcase. Great.

"Sirius! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" Gentle hands helped him to his feet but before he could flick his hair back with a smooth motion of his head, he felt arms circle around him.

"Oh, God," she whispered. Sirius didn't know what to do, but before he could even decide, the young woman collected herself. "Sorry, it's just so good to see you. I- how are you?"

Sirius didn't realize his mouth was agape until the witch wiped away tears and laughed lightly. Shaking from his stupor, Sirius smiled.

What a nice daughter he had!

"I'm fine, young lady. And you are?"

Laugh, Hermione Dagworth-Granger did. It was a delightful sound that made Sirius proud. To put a smile on her face was indeed the best accomplishment of the day.

Looking at the witch, Sirius felt pride for himself, too, for having raised her. Would raise her, actually. Shite. This made him confused.

The revelation of Miss Hermione's relation to him as his daughter had been the greatest surprise. Thinking back to his first thought, that he had no daughter whatsoever, not to mention he wasn't old enough to have one (Hermione was twenty-six! Thirteen years that Sirius wasn't alive to sire her) felt comical now.

He had figured out  _how_. That's why.

Last year, going back to school after that incidence, Sirius had plenty time to ponder over what it meant. Magic never lied, and the magic woven to their tapestry back home was a tricky old magic. Not something one could fool easily. Sure, it was possible to hide stuff. How Miss Hermione had tweaked the family tree, for example (Sirius saw this when he visited for the Malfoy wedding). But that alteration was merely a magical curtain over the tapestry, so to speak, hiding her place among them.

To add a relative, blood had to be presented and sealed with magic of that of a Black.

His father had at least explained that much.

Coming to conclusion that Miss Hermione had to be his daughter, Sirius really thought relentlessly how that could be possible.

The young woman looked nothing like himself. Not like his family at all! Given, she had their curls. She reminded cousin Bella in that regard. But that wasn't enough. Her amber eyes gave away her ancestry: She was no Black. It was hereditary to have grey eyes once Black blood was in the mix. One of the reasons Malfoys have been reluctant to marry with their House; it left a mark that would carry to every heir.

She was a lovely witch, not to mention. A sweet soul and a kind person. Another trait not passed down in the family. The few exceptions were blasted for a reason.

It was in Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson that Sirius finally cracked the puzzle. He was suspecting that Miss Hermione had to be from the future to be his daughter -assuming she was- and the lesson gave him a means: Time-turner.

Then, everything clicked.

He just wondered who the mother was. He prayed it wasn't McKinnon. The current absurdity of the situation was enough without her being the mother.

"I'm fine, too, Lord Black. Better, now that I saw you."

She winked at him and Sirius found himself grinning from ear to ear, not minding any details for now. He could think later.

They both got seated.

"What drifted you here? There's time for the new semester."

Sirius waited for Hermione to order them two tea. Butterbeer some other time, he guessed and Sirius rolled his eyes. "Two weeks left, actually. I'm stopping by on my way home."

"Home?" she echoed. "Oh, right! You were with the Potters, yeah? How was the visit?"

His smile got wider as if possible. "Amazing! The best month of the year, to be honest. We played Quidditch, twice with Uncle Flemont too, and went to swim with the gang, you know-"

"James wrote Mr. Potter broke an arm at one of those games?"

"Nothing to worry about though. He got it fixed in four days. They collided with Peter actually. He got a bloody nose, too."

Hermione scrunched her face but soon they were laughing at some other shenanigan James had pulled.

"It was time well spent, I'd say." Miss Hermione rose a brow at him, a scary question on the way, Sirius thought. "How's your homework, by the way? You finished them before visiting the Potters, right?"

Messing his hair and laughing to buy time was foolish as Miss Hermione saw through immediately and sighed. "Boys…"

"There is not much, really! I'm not taking Divination and Care of Magical Creatures next year. So I'll skip those assignments. And Professor Venn retired last year. I doubt he will be around to check the Arithmancy-"

"Sirius Orion Black!" Sirius hushed at his full name being called, perplexed but oddly happy. " _The third_."

Oh, he loved this witch!

It was wrong he was feeling no daughterly feelings towards her.

Blushing, Sirius scratched the back of his neck and gave Miss Hermione his best puppy eyes. A look most professors couldn't handle- not while they were about to scold him.

"I just thought-"

"You should have thought better," she said. Though her voice was stern, it wasn't harsh and her smile never left her lips.

As she stretched out her hand, however, Sirius thought the worst.

Wincing away from her hand, he realized too late that she would only mess with his hair.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" Sirius didn't know what to say. There was nothing to apologize. He didn't normally shy away from contact- not from his mates anyway, all those tackles and hugs and everything.

Hermione did not remind him of… of…

Sirius gulped and shook his head. He would not think back to the darkness, the cold floor he slept on, the aches on his back and arms or the emptiness in his stomach. He was away from it all.

One floo away.

Fuck.

"Sirius? Sirius?"

Sirius closed his eyes. Wiping away his face, he sighed. "Yes? Yes. I'm fine. Nothing, really."

It was heart-wrenching to see a worried Hermione. He didn't want her to look at him like that, her eyes wide and hesitant. She looked ready to jump of the stool and help him in any way she could, but seemed so unsure to what exactly could help.

Nothing could help, in fact.

He would take the floo home and watch his back for these two weeks. The shopping trip to Diagon Alley would be the most risky day. Although, with Reggie enrolling in school, attention would be diverted from himself alright.

"What do you say we go out to grab a bite? You must be hungry."

The next moment, Hermione was asking Madame Rosmerta if it was alright to leave the suitcase for a short while. Sirius, too, rose from his chair.

"Then I'll treat you to an ice-cream. How's that?"

Sirius nodded and followed along. He was feeling better by the time they sat down to get an ice-cream. Lunch had helped to get his wits together, and their short and entertaining banter in Flourish and Blotts for what books he would purchase made his odd behaviour from earlier forgotten. Slightly, at least.

Sirius caught Hermione watching him funnily, the worried crease of her brows remaining whenever she thought he wasn't looking, but their conversation was filled with laughter and sincerity. For that, Sirius could act as if he would never go back home and be happy with their lovely afternoon together.

"Sirius, I've been thinking…"

"Hmmm?" Licking his ice-cream, he gave only his partial attention to her, honestly.

"Remember I mentioned how big, old and lonely my new house was? Well, it's just that… I don't like it. When I'm alone, that is. Perhaps you can stay till school opens, yeah? I'll help you with your homework once my work in the Ministry finishes, and you can be my guest. What do you think?"

Sirius gaped, aware that his ice-cream was melting to his fingers. Did he hear her right? Two weeks in her place? Not going back to Grimmauld Place?

"Of course, I'll owl your parents and let them know. We can go and buy your books, too. And I could send you off to Hogwarts, even. Hand you to your parents on the platform on the first of September?"

Feeling an itch at his eyes, Sirius wiped his forearm on his eyes, careful not to get his ice-creamed hands close to his hair. Then he took a breath to steady his voice.

"Yeah, I'd like that. If I won't trouble you."

"What trouble-"

"You don't even need to owl my parents, it should be fine!"

"I should. They will be worried-" -Sirius didn't correct her- "-and they must know I will check on your homework and your books for the new semester-"

"I'll definitely finish my homework! All of it!"

At that declaration, Hermione giggled.

"Then we can go out together like this," Sirius asked. "Yeah?"

With the warmest smile on her face, Hermione nodded. "Sure. I'll take you to that Quidditch shop also. Next time."

Sirius nodded, too. "Next time."

Screw everyone else. Sirius had a family of his own. Who'd've said he would be on cloud nine to have a daughter?

* * *

Sirius Black was a menace. Hermione couldn't believe he hadn't touched a page of his homework, yet. Nothing.  _Siriusly,_  nothing.

Groaning, she dipped her quill back into the inkwell.

While he was down in the library, writing his first parchment on Werewolves (A topic that would retain his interest while he was unsupervised), Hermione had come up to her study where she would write a letter to his parents about his absence in the Grimmauld Place.

It had been easy to decide whom to write the letter. Walburga Black in person was nastier than her portrait counterpart, and Hermione would kill herself first then to write to the bitch for permission to keep Sirius.

That left his father.

Eyeing her empty parchment, Hermione thought of Orion Black.

She had never heard of her own Sirius talking about the man. He was dead, in her time, and apparently hadn't left that much of an impression on Sirius for the older version of him to even mention the deceased man in the passing. Hermione didn't understand the reason though.

Remembering Orion Black's striking grey eyes, tall and broad built, Hermione admitted while blushing that he wasn't a man to forget. He had an air of command, a calm but stern exterior that immediately collected attention and of course confidence that prevented any eyes straying from him.

She knew, because she always took note of his presence whenever they came across.

After their short chat in that tapestry room, his disinterest toward her and her own occupation with the Malfoys had prevented Hermione to get to know Sirius' father, but if she wanted to help Sirius, she had to at least try.

It wasn't a secret that Sirius Black had a horrible childhood. Even she remembered how he fled from his house and got blasted for seeking out the Potters.

Hermione had always assumed his mother, Walburga, to be the culprit of his disastrous years, but honestly, she had never thought how Orion Black fit to Sirius' unfortunate childhood.

At the back of her head, she realized she had always thought the man to be dead even in Sirius' childhood.

Shaking her head, Hermione focused on writing the damn letter. She wanted a reply around the time for dinner. Otherwise, she would have no explanation to give for Aurors who would bang on her door for kidnapping charges. Kidnapping the Black heir at that.

Thinking back to how Sirius had scared away from her touch and his eyes were teary upon her invitation over her place, she decided she wasn't above reply the Aurors with a couple of Stupefies.

* * *

Cracking his neck, Orion reached for his quill to go over the papers Anastasia had brought in this morning with his coffee.

Over the week, some inane incidence in Gringotts had caused minor conflicts for the finalization of the deal to finish the Melania Hotel in Sydney, Australia. Surprisingly, there had been a break-in, and although the goblins made an announcement that the thieves had not set foot outside the bank  _alive_ , apparently substantial amount of gold was lost.

This has happened in the Australian branch of the bank. Coupled with one of Orion's associates who was over in Sydney to see to the opening, coming down with a disease that had him rushing to the hospital -he died actually- Orion had been floo-calling his men in Sydney to smooth over the arrangements no matter what.

Regardless of the unfortunate events, Saturday night Orion was there to attend the glamorous opening of his seventeenth hotel.

That left Sunday to enjoy the congratulations, and today for a calmer work day.

Hearing the knock on his door, Orion stalled his reading. "Come in."

Anastasia, his personal secretary flaunted in, and placed new parchments on his desk. She was a young woman, graduate of Durmstrang Institute by six years and newly assigned to the position in his tourism company. Her soft blond waves cascaded over to her back and her makeup was always precise, overall not a speck out of place. Well, if one overlooked the few needlessly open buttons and her skirt always finding a way to climb on her thighs.

Orion did notice. His glances were few and short, but they never left an impression once the door was closed.

Watching her arse sway as the clang of her high heels filled his ears, Orion returned to his work after the door was closed. It frustrated him sometimes, how he never seemed to take that final step.

Final step of blatantly looking at her decolletage when she so graciously displayed it, smiling at her when she hopefully searched his face, or taking one step closer to her when she dared to circle around his desk.

Anastasia was not the first witch to play this game, and she wasn't the first Orion showed no interest.

Scratching his slight moustache, Orion sighed and wiped his mouth.

He didn't understand himself sometimes. It wasn't because he was in a loving marriage. He never purposefully stayed loyal to Walburga, as a wife at least. It was no news she did not satisfy him, but to go behind her back had never been an option for Orion. Regardless of how hard to stay true to that, oftenly. His was a need, too, Salazar forgive him.

Not that there was a witch he desired, but Orion wouldn't say no to burying himself in the cunt of a willing witch.

Putting his quill back on the desk, Orion groaned, not liking the tract of his thoughts. Glaring at the door Anastasia closed after herself, he couldn't help but  _imagine_.

Imagine the doorknob being pulled, and a young witch stepping inside.

She would wear work robes of that same green she wore to the wedding. Her skirt would be a second skin to her, displaying her curves and aiding the sway of her hips as she walked closer to him.

He would gaze at her from head to toe and back. Their eyes would lock and her lips would tug in a tantalizing smile.

"I've been looking for you," she would purr and her hand would rise to grab her hair band to release that curly hair of hers. It would bounce at the level of her shoulder and Orion would count the honey coloured streaks in it.

His index finger on his lips, preventing a wider smile to crack his face, he would raise a brow at her. "You found me."

She would smirk at that, and oh, how much Orion loved that! An expression he could only imagine on her beautiful face, and imagine he did.

As she removed her high heels without a hitch, Orion would rise in his armchair and roll it sideways to allow his witch to stand in front of him.

Her graceful fingers finding the buttons of her shirt, she would remove her garment as she kneeled between his legs.

Imagining the feel of her hands running up his thighs as she craned her neck to ask for a kiss elicited a groan from Orion and he had no choice but to move his hand to where his pants were obviously tenting.

Thinking as if it were her hands trying to open his zipper, her hands revealing his cock, her hands circling around its base, Orion's breath hitched as he thought how thoroughly he would have kissed her.

His own hands would have been in her magnificent hair.

Of course, she would pull sooner than he would have liked, so that her fingers could unhook her bra and her breasts would be available to rest on him to take his cock in between each.

She would lick the tip of his cock, following that. Oh, her sweet tongue! Before he could appreciate the slight touch, she would kiss its head, then next time she would take it in. Sucking and licking, all the while she moved her breasts to give the softest and warmest bed to his cock, a maddeningly exquisite weight on his balls.

"Yes, witch, like that." His encouragements would urge her to open her mouth wider and accept more of his length, and before he knew it, her mouth would be moving on his length and he would be guiding with the pulls and pushes by her hair.

Having coated his cock with cum to help him imagine the sensation better, Orion was already pumping it to the rhythm.

Oh, Hermione looked perfect between his legs and it wasn't the only place she belonged.

That final thought, the promise of her warm cunt enveloping his cock, tripped Orion over the edge.

Sadly, instead of how his witch swallowed till the last drop in his daydream, his seed spurted all over the place and the cold air that filled his lungs afterwards was a slap to his face of his wanton deed.

For a few moments, Orion listened to his panting. Unsure if what just happened had indeed  _happened_.

Hermione Dagworth-Granger, the young witch coming here to England from France in search of her ancestry, the one he had over dinner (not as a course, but a  _guest_ , Orion had to correct his mind), the woman whose legs had once been parted for his best friend Evan Rosier and also the woman with whom he had no relation whatsoever currently, had starred in his fantasy. Not Anastasia right outside the door, but  _her_.

Glancing back at the door, Orion chased away all of those thoughts and cleaned himself. Wanting to forget the quick release, he got back to work and got fully engrossed by the pile of dealings to be looked over.

After lunch break, he had a small meeting with his associates from Switzerland. He would dine them in the restaurant of his hotels once dinner came, but they wanted sightseeing for the free hours in between.

Obliging to their wishes, Orion trailed back to his office. Anastasia briefed him about the few developments and passed any letters that came by owls.

"A common post-owl brought this one. I checked for any spells and it looks safe, if you want to read, that is."

Orion rose his brows at her explanation and received the letter. It was addressed to him alright, but from…

Reading the signed name, Orion Black stiffened. His mouth formed a gap of a thin line, eyes shone and cracked open a tad while his brows creased in bewilderment.

Acutely aware that his reaction built curiosity in his secretary, Orion dismissed her with a wave of his hand and didn't open the letter until he heard the door getting closed.

_Dear Lord Orion Black,_

_I'm writing to mention that I came across your son, Sirius Black, on his way home and asked for him to join me a day in Diagon Alley. I hope I did not cause any distress for the absence of his arrival. Having the chance to talk with him about his school, too, I realized I could be of assistance to his remaining assignments. I'm experienced with how I helped one of Sirius' own friends, James Potter, during this summer. If you give permission, I would like to tutor him over my manor the remaining two weeks and help to ready him for his upcoming year in Hogwarts. You need not to worry about his school shopping if you give permission for him to stay over. I'll be responsible for him in every sense. And I will deliver him to you in King's Cross on the first of September._

_I hope you will consider and timely reply; I will send Sirius home first thing in the morning if you decline._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Hermione Dagworth-Granger_

Orion read the letter once more just to be sure. His eyes straying to the last line " _sincerely yours_ " more than a few times, he sighed and took his quill.

The woman was not only asking permission to have Sirius over to tutor him, but she also mentioned how she'd take care of his school shopping and leave him to his care on Sirius' departure day.

Wondering if he would be on King's Cross that day, it occurred to him that he indeed would be, with how it was Regulus' first year. His younger son in his mind, he wondered if they have already went to shop for his wand and supplies.

Knowing that he wouldn't get a reply from his wife, Orion took another parchment to inquire his younger son about that.

For the first parchment, Orion penned his definite reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Now we are up to date! I'm actually writing the next chapter around now, so you'll get the updates with ffnet in sync :D


	14. Chapter 14

"They do magic as any pureblood child can," Hermione insisted. "Hogwarts has graduated many Muggleborns and Halfbloods throughout the years. It's the exact same seven years of education. They all take the same OWLs and NEWTs, and they are qualified for jobs, so why not make these wizards and witches a functional part of the society?"

While Abraxas was leaving hints of his support for her, Hermione was explaining her views in tidbits. These fundraisers, galas and balls were means to establish Hermione as a candidate; for what Hermione was not sure. Abraxas was not fully forthcoming with his plans, but leaving Hermione's suspicions aside, it was a good thing to provide the indecisive or neutral part of the wizarding society another option.

"You are thinking too highly of them, Miss Dagworth-Granger." The man sniffed, looking unconvinced and irritated of their conversation. Hermione couldn't believe this was the same man she exchanged her passion for historical books just a moment ago. "None can do the work required of them. Many flee to their Muggle world, given the chance. But still our Ministry is lenient to let them in and out. For their luxury of stealing from our world on a whim, the Ministry takes further cautions to even hush our existence. I won't take lightly to this oppression."

Hermione pursed her lips.  _Not indecisive or neutral, this one._

"You contradict still, Miss Dagworth-Granger?" gasped the man's wife. A light brunette who has been observant throughout their conversation. She had lost interest the moment Hermione mentioned she was a collector of books. Hermione deduced the woman was tired of her husband's hobby already that she didn't engage in Hermione's enthusiasm too.

"I agree to some point, Mrs Crouch." Addressing to the woman, Hermione reminded herself how important it was to get it past Mr. Crouch's thick head that integration should be supported as opposed to segregation. If the Ministry policy wasn't changed promptly, and Mr. Crouch would get his promotion to switch Mr. Jorgensen as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, pureblood animosity against muggleborns would rocket with the new laws enabling the likes of Moody killing suspects on Auror duty without capture.

Thinking back to how both sides, the Death Eaters and the Ministry, both one-upped the other these exact years that led to a civil war breaking out, Hermione wasn't surprised she got herself a massive headache.

"I believe the Statue of Secrecy should be sustained for now as Muggles are struggling through unpredictable times themselves, and the revelation of our kind would pose an uncontrollable reaction. And in that light, unsupervised Muggleborns arise as a conflict of interest for the Ministry. But, there is a simple solution."

Hermione stared hard at Mr. Crouch, to make sure he listened intently, but the feeling that his wife cared more about what she was about to say lingered with her.

 _Screw it_ , Hermione thought, even if she was going to be a mild Umbridge to propose such an idea, it was a compromise she was willing to make.

"Detect Muggleborns early on, take their parents in a magical vow for secrecy, and provide them early education before Hogwarts to win them in society better. Once they are out of school, they will have jobs where the Ministry can supervise them and thus there will be no concern about their affiliation."

 _Same goes for other creatures like werewolves, vampires and giants._  Hermione didn't say that of course, she didn't want these people who saw creatures even below Muggleborns to jump to conclusions.  _One at a time_ , Hermione reminded herself and mentally took a deep breath.

If the society gave the Muggleborns the chance to prove themselves, and Hermione's proposition was just that,  _a chance_ , they could make better of themselves. Hermione had proved herself in spite of those bigoted purebloods standing in her way. Surely the ones in this era could use her help better. She would have Abraxas with her to convince purebloods to respect and avoid violence.

They needed time. With time and monopolizing the money transactions to organizations such as the Death Eaters, they could prevent an actual war from breaking out.

Of course, Hermione would get her hands dirty to snuff their head, Tom Riddle. But she had no qualms about that internally.

"If we all do that and every single Muggleborn fails to work, say as a simple clerk in the Ministry or even in a bookshop to magically float the books back to their respective places, then I will support that their magic is false."

Hermione smiled to Mr. Crouch's raised eyebrow, but she knew the man at least caught up to her sarcasm.

"Ah, there you are, my lovely," came Abraxas' voice. "I mentioned your pre-Hogwarts education programme to Mr. Bird and he is keen to hear your view with his own ears."

Nodding to Mr. Crouch, then kissing the back of Mrs. Crouch's hand, Abraxas added, "Mind if I whisk her away? I shouldn't have left her to her own devices to begin with, but you must know, Mrs. Crouch, when males fail to attend to their ladies, they are capable of finding a conversationalist of equal or more intrigue."

Abraxas made a point of directly speaking to Mrs. Crouch, but Hermione didn't ponder over the detail as she was dragged by Abraxas.

This whole thing was a game to him and Hermione was aware how it brought fun and youth to his otherwise dull life. The man acted as though he hadn't recovered from a lethal diease merely months ago.

Finishing the day with amiable people promising to owl Hermione for details, she and Malfoy parted ways in watch of single witches and Witch Weekly paparazzis. They were never convinced she had nothing to do with Abraxas, but at the same time wanted exactly that to be true.

Hermione really tired of the expectations of the society of 70s on single woman. She was pitied and left alone for her dramatic heritage revelation, but as the days crawled past, families took initiative for the same exact reasons if they had an available male to marry. Whenever an elder witch questioned Hermione on her status, Hermione missed having Evan with her to fend off their preying stares, measuring looks and contemplating words.

Evan was missed also because Hermione did like his attention on her. Not only because he carried her to any and every event in the wizarding society, invited her over to dinner and events, but also because Evan saw her as a woman before anything else. At least for the first month until she agreed to sleep with him that had been the case. His attention-span for one woman wasn't longer than that, but Hermione appreciated that considering the few one-night stands she pulled off after Ron. Or similar relationships which didn't last longer than three weeks.

Well, her medical education and obsessive studying schedule never let anything for more to happen.

Apparating to her empty house, Hermione was thinking she was missing having a special someone to fill her life, and preferably herself too, and she sighed as she thought how Godric-curse-it-all impossible it was for her.

Her pity party was interrupted, however, the moment she sniffed the room to notice a nasty smell of burnt something… oh, Merlin, not her house!

The clang and clatter of wares alerted Hermione to rush to the kitchen, and run she did.

"Hot, hot, hot!" The hiss of the younger wizard who held his hand while jumping from one foot to another, and his desperate whimpering filled her ears the moment she stepped in.

"Sirius?!"

Hermione forgot she had Sirius over her house. The teenager was in her kitchen making a mess, burning Merlin-knows-what, and scorching himself with-

"Is that boiled water all over the place?" Hermione shrieked as she got her wand out. One swish and the pot rolling on the ground, still making noise, vanished. Another flick and the hot water everywhere evaporated. Lastly, she took a hold of Sirius' hands and waved her wand over to heal his minor burn injuries.

She'd need to find salves to prevent any scars.

Raising her eyes to scold him, Hermione noticed the smoke coming from the pan behind him, and deduced the burnt smell of meat came from there immediately. "Oh, Merlin."

Half an hour later, Hermione and Sirius sat in the sitting room, Hermione feeding Sirius of the pasta he failed to cook but she accomplished perfectly, regardless of Sirius' pout and whining.

"My hands are fine now."

"I don't trust that you won't drop the plate," Hermione joked with a smile on her face. But the truth was that she liked sharing from one plate, getting a bite herself and offering another to him the next.

She grinned when she ate the bite she offered to him herself, teasing him.

"Very funny."

"Funny enough," Hermione said her mouth full. The muffled sound was so reminiscent of Ronald, that she had a hard time swallowing.

The past months, she was doing fine not thinking about her best friends, or took a sleeping draught when she decided to think too much, so Hermione didn't want today to start on her potions again.

"You don't cook, but tried to anyway." Hermione commented after some time.

"Well, I was hungry."

"It is well past midnight." Even while saying that Hermione was aware it was natural for teenagers to crave food while growing up.

"Hungry and no-elves."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Point taken."

"How do you live here on your own, though? No one cooks, cleans, works. I don't like house-elves myself, nasty and stupid creatures, but they are useful."

"Sirius Black!"

"What? Who do you think cleans our rooms or cooks for us in Hogwarts?"

Hermione didn't comment, wanting to divert attention. Knowing how much her own Sirius hated Kreacher, she didn't want to push her thoughts on elf liberation.

"I'll get another plate. Pasta and unburnt steak."

As she walked in, Hermione heard Sirius', "Ha, ha, ha."

Smiling, she returned and this time passed the plate to him, knowing full well that he could eat himself.

"How is your Potions homework coming along? Finished? I left you with half of the first scroll of parchment finished. How long was the gala? I think Abraxas took me around six, so, what, you had seven hours to continue it?"

Sirius chewed the pasta in his mouth and refused to answer, to which Hermione giggled. Oh, he was so obvious!

"Fine. I'm not going anywhere from Thursday till the end of the week. So if we finish Transfiguration and Potions till Saturday, I promise you a day out. How's that?"

"It won't be like the picnic you brought my homework along, right?" Sirius pleaded.

Hermione scrunched her face. "It's good to switch sceneries, it stimulates your mind to work better-"

"No homework." The raise of his brow and the partly fed-up and partly unbelieving stare of his reminded Hermione of his father. Orion Black's glances at his wife were mostly like that, as much as Hermione observed back at the dinner anyway.

"Of course, not!" Hermione huffed. To prove him wrong, Hermione had to play her last resort. "In fact-"

Diving her hand in her beaded bag -this was a new one with the same charms- Hermione pulled out two tickets. "Falmouth Falcons versus Quiberon Quafflepunchers. On sunday, it was going to be a surprise but-"

Hermione couldn't hear her voice over Sirius scream and the Quidditch trivia that spilled from his mouth. She could only understand that this was among the few international games before the World Cup and apparently Sirius admired the French Chaser of the Quiberon Quafflepunchers. Something about how he had the best score for a newbie in the last tournament.

"You are the best daughter, ever, Hermione!"

At that, Hermione stalled. Sirius' hype died down promptly but he didn't notice the switch in her until he turned to face her. When both parties felt at loss of words, the heavy silence reigned, aware that this was a topic both wanted to avoid.

Well, they had avoided for the few days Sirius was here.

"You don't have to, you know, explain it, or anything-"

Hermione saw an eager boy actually dying for answers, but what he said was sweet and considerate in a naive way only children were capable. Shite. Hermione had wished they could both act as though this tidbit of information never came by them -by Sirius- and Hermione would monitor him to see that the secret never came out.

Hermione faced that she might have to Obliviate or force Sirius into a Vow. Very much how she had done with the Malfoys.

Sighing, Hermione realized those were not options for Sirius the longer she looked at the Marauder she saw as a father. The future version of him, at least.

"Sit down, Sirius, will you?"

His feet dragging on the carpet, Sirius sat down. Hermione didn't know where to start, what to say, or even how much should she say. She was changing the future, that was apparent, but any information she revealed to Sirius would affect a thirteen year old child.

Her predictions to how Sirius would take in the fact that he served twelve years in Azkaban and escaped only to have his mind set to kill his childhood friend, a friend whom Sirius saw as his best friend  _now_ , would irreversibly damage young Sirius Black.

 _Idiot_ , Hermione thought as she felt her mouth go dry. She wasn't going to reveal those horrific events of the future. Before mentioning even those, she would be forced to confess that Harry's parents would die- news she knew this Sirius would not take calmly.

Noticing that she was tapping her foot, her leg bouncing up and down, she increased its speed to somewhat ease her mind. Her fast beating heart didn't provide enough air to her lungs and she found herself feeling trapped.

Dear Merlin, her Sirius -the one she helped to do his homework, cooked for him, laughed with him, messed his hair- would be sentenced to Azkaban, abandoned by his family and his best friends lost.

No, no, no. Hermione would change that all. Either there would be no first wizarding war or she would die trying to murder Voldemort for good. Harry would not become a Horcrux, nor would his parents die.

"Hermione?"

Hearing her name, she looked up to see a confused and worried Sirius. No tattoos were visible, not on his neck, hands, collarbone, nowhere. His hair was shiny and clean. His cheeks were full and his eyes shone with youth. Hermione noticed his face recently growing hair.

She would protect Sirius.

She would pay back for the kindness of her adoptive father.

Sirius who offered her sanctuary, welcomed her to his family, worried about her as if she was his daughter by blood. She was.

She was Hermione Black. Sirius' Hermione. And she would stand by her family. Her one and only family.

"You adopted me," Hermione blurted out. Beside a flicker of shock that passed his stare, young Sirius didn't bat an eye and preserved his composure.

"Sirius Black adopted me," Hermione repeated, this time as if she was choking. Merlin, she hadn't realized she would get emotional this quickly. Her eyes hurt with tears. "The godfather of my best friend, Harry Potter, protected me and accepted me to his family."

Saying it out loud, Hermione couldn't fight the sob anymore. He was lost. Hermione had no one. No one to think about her, care for her, anybody who'd care whether she lived or died.

Harry and Ron would have cared.

None were here.

Molly, Arthur, McGonagall, Remus and Dora would care.

None were here.

Her parents and Sirius would have cared.

They were dead.

Wiping her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath. Her nose ran but there was no tissue. Great.

"I traveled back in time," she whispered. Even if Sirius' black trousers were in her sight (she looked down) it felt so lonely saying the words. It was as if she was talking to herself. Confessing- confessing sins, really.

By traveling back in time, she had destroyed the future, hadn't she? She had killed the happiness of her friends, ended the peace many of them died fighting for, and now her actions were condemning many people to awful fates.

As far as Hermione knew currently, the Muggleborns and other "inferior" creatures were far away from earning the rights they had back in the new millenium. She would gladly relive the Battle, be a murderer again, but to start as early as before the first wizarding war?

Playing political games had a risk to not give the desired results and Hermione dreaded carrying the burden of the many more deaths, especially for a conflict that had been solved. In her own time.

"I shouldn't know this, then." Sirius' voice brought Hermione's attention back. She rose her gaze to meet with his calculating one. His eyes stared at his hands, his brows knitted together while anger converted his face. "Right?"

Their gazes locked, Hermione could only nod.

"Compromising your identity if you travel back in time has deadly consequences," Sirius rushed. Hermione was awed at his knowledge of the first rules of time travel- although Hermione was breaking most of them, if not all.

Her conscience was clear with how she blamed the Malfoys for their meddling.

"Not if," Hermione cleared her throat, "If you don't share with anybody else."

At her words, Sirius gulped, his eyes opening a fraction. Hermione sensed his magic condense, and as the skilled Legilimens she was, she picked up how his magic clouded his mind and thoughts cleared away behind his eyes.

 _First warding of the mind_ , Hermione thought and wondered where Sirius picked up basic Occlumency. He was a beginner, obviously, with how he let his magic be seen, but even the greatest wizards and witches had a hard time balancing their power whenever they were emotionally unstable.

Wincing at his protective behaviour, Hermione frantically shook her head. She would not raise her wand at Sirius- she wouldn't Obliviate him.

"I need a wizarding Oath. And then maybe, you can help me?"

* * *

His hands corrected any crease of the white button up before he wore his vest. Checking his tie from the mirror, tightening it just in case, Orion then smoothed his combed hair once again. Pleased with what he saw, lastly he donned his outer robes.

Eyes lazily going over his outwear, Orion smirked and turned to leave his bedchambers.

"Make me wait all the time, will you?" huffed his wife the moment Orion stepped in the hall. He didn't mind. The vexed contortion of her face was that of a portrait; it never changed. That was Walburga Black for you. Has been and will always be.

"Walburga," Orion greeted her but she barely heard it with her fussing of how late they were. His wife cared only because she missed out the valuable gossip- it was the day children went for Hogwarts, after all.

Many from their circles would be on the platform, perhaps not the husbands like Orion would, but ladies from the elite loved sending off children. It was among the few chances the society took notice of which were the better parents and whose children would attend- scandals of Squibs were sought, Orion knew.

Unfortunate and disgraceful for the parents, but gossip indeed.

If he wasn't mistaken, Orion knew of children from the Sayres, Fawleys and Greengrasses that would start the same year as his younger son Regulus. That was the extent of his knowledge, thus why he wasn't as involved with gossip as his dear wife.

Regulus, now that Orion paid more attention to him, looked rather enthusiastic but nervous at the same time. Noticing how tight his boy held onto the hem of his robes and tightly closed his lips, Orion couldn't help but smile at Regulus' attempt to look aloft about his first day.

His letter has come and today he would leave for his school. It was amusing to observe the restraint his son tried to possess, but failed due to his youth. He would grow to be a responsible Black, Orion knew. But for now, he was proud that his son was armed with a wand and eager mind.

Clutching Regulus' shoulder to squeeze in support, Orion smiled at the thought how similar he looked to Sirius, his older son.

Orion hadn't seen Sirius off to school, but he doubted his day had been different than Regulus'. It was Regulus' luck that the excuse of meeting Miss Dagworth-Granger presented itself; now Orion was set to send him off as well. But for his sons both, even like this, their first farewells were exponentially better than how Orion himself was sent off to school.

He had been the second son, not to mention the wrong branch of the Black family. He hadn't been special enough for his parents to see off to school.

Burying that particular train of thought, he focused how Sirius must have been as excited. Perhaps even more than Regulus, here! Knowing the spirit of his elder son, Orion suspected he had been outrageous for Walburga to contain.

Then again, it had been disappointing to hear that he was taken by the lions upon sorting. Walburga had screeched about it; of course through a howler as Orion had been absent from the house- thank Merlin. However, it was not as dire as how the Nott's banished their only heir the very same year.

That had helped Walburga to shut up. A leverage she displayed among her society friends; at least her son was magical.

Orion agreed to that last thought. He wouldn't have lived with his own father hearing about their heir being a Squib. With Sirius' birth, Orion had achieved the main responsibility of being the Lord Black: maintain the name.

He has been a free man every since, and for the first time in many years, today, when Miss Dagworth-Granger would bring his son to him, Orion Black would act according to his heart's true desire.

"Let's go," Orion said, not wishing to waste another minute.

Walburga grabbed Regulus' upper arm, then Orion Disapparated the three of them.

* * *

"Come on, let's load your luggage!" Hermione shouted over the bustle of the crowd. She had forgotten the sea of wizards and witches packed in the rather narrow platform. Younger ones ran about, shouting, laughing and even  _singing_ , and that was not all of it considering the familiars were making all kinds of noises.

One cat hissed when she accidentally stepped on its tail, even. An idiot must have lost it, like Neville had Trevor.

"This way," Sirius beckoned her. Clasping her hand, he dragged her to the line to load the luggage. "I can use engorgio on the luggage myself, Hermione? You don't need to-"

"Magic is not allowed for you. Underage, remember?"

"We'are on the  _platform_! Merlin, witch! And I'm fourteen."

Hermione rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips. "Three more years for me to cast spells instead of you, then."

At his groan, Hermione laughed. Sirius was grumpier today, partially her fault. She had mentioned how she would deliver him to his parents, and the young Gryffindor got all worked up how he would rather board the train directly.

Hermione relented saying that it would be fine if he came with her and quickly said his farewells while Hermione took care of the formalities with his parents. Not that Hermione was dying to see Walburga Black herself, but still.

They ran into the Potters on their way to find the Blacks. It was bad luck, Hermione knew as she was positive now it would be impossible to take Sirius to the Blacks without Hermione dragging Sirius by force to separate him from his friends. Remus and Peter were here as well.

"So you brought Sirius here?" Mr. Potter inquired. He was more interested in gossip than his wife, honestly.

"Yes, actually. He stayed with me the last two weeks. He  _begged_ me to help his homework." The roll of her eyes and her mock exasperation elicited a laugh from Mr. Potter.

"That's our Sirius, just like Jamie, right honey?" Mr. Potter agreed.

"You should have seen how he disappeared everytime we brought up school, teachers and homework," added Mrs. Potter. "I asked him eventually, and he… hid the truth, shall I say? You should have seen his guilt over the three days that followed."

"Oh as if guilt does the homework itself," Hermione commented which earned her a belly laughter from Mr. Potter.

Just as the man was about to tell his memories from school days, a repeat actually, Hermione caught the sight of a familiar man in grey suit and robes.

He stood by a pillar, not mixed with the common crowd but neither disappearing back at the sidelines. Around him people went to their business, rushing after their kids or catching up with each other children and adults alike. He was stood without anyone, though. His hands leisurely hanging in his pockets, the glint of his vest chain visible through the crack of his outer robes, and the black of his hair rang a bell in Hermione's mind that she knew this man.

 _He must think the same_ , she thought, as his intense gaze was locked with hers.

Meeting with his eyes did the trick. Hermione remembered him differently. Having seen him once over dinner, Hermione couldn't pick out the differences. Perhaps the natural moustache? Rather more formal robes? His composure and the confidence with which he held himself were the same, and the rest of his appearance -his face specifically- was one and a same with the young boy Hermione had over her home the past two weeks.

He was Sirius' father, Orion Black.

Hermione turned to look at Sirius, who was in the middle of a merry conversation with his friends, and looking back at his father -although she was not there, Walburga Black had to be close- Hermione felt a pang in her heart to remove Sirius from his friends. She didn't want Sirius to be upset, over anything.

Realizing that the man had seen his son, Hermione thought a quick explanation to him that Sirius would board the train with his friends would be adequate.

"Sorry, Mr. Potter," Hermione interrupted Mr. Potter to whose school memories she hadn't been paying attention.

"Flemont. And Euphemia for me, Hermione. Please," Mrs. Potter- Euphemia corrected.

Hermione smiled at them both. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Sirius?" she called, and once he turned to her, only then she held his shoulder. She had grown the habit of this: calling, informing Sirius, so that her touch wouldn't be an unwelcome surprise. "I saw your father. If you want, I'll go talk with him and you can stay here with the Potters? Board the train with your friends, yeah?"

His eyes sought his father at this news, and Hermione watched as Sirius' eyes popped open in shock upon laying eyes on his father.

"Father? He came," whispered Sirius, his mouth agape. Then he shook off his daze. "No, no, I'll come with you, Hermione."

Sirius quickly extracted himself from his friends, promising to find them in the train, and Hermione bid her farewell to everyone before she accompanied Sirius to his parents.

Walking to the man whose gazes switched between his son and her, Hermione felt her heartbeat increase for no reason at all. She was aware how Sirius searched through the crowd still, perhaps for his mother, but Hermione couldn't help but focus more on the man that stood now not more than five steps. She appreciated his built, height and overall posture.  _Dashing,_  she thought. Merlin forgive her, but he was so her type!

Scolding herself that it was not the time nor the place for those thoughts, she smiled and extended her hand.

"Mr. Black," she greeted him but couldn't help the escape of an, "Oh" when the man in question gently held her hand in his gloved one to lower his lips on her knuckles.

"Lord Black," he corrected her as he straightened again. Hermione didn't imagine the linger of his grasp. He reluctantly let go. The heat that burned her neck and face hopefully didn't paint her cheeks red, as a consequence.

Luckily, Sirius was there to greet his father too so Lord Black's focus was immediately removed from Hermione least she evaporate at the spot.

"Son, you've been a gentlemen to Miss Dagworth-Granger, I hope?"

At the mention of her, both males turned to her and this time Hermione blushed at Sirius' genuine smile.

"Of course, he has been!" Hermione blurted out before Sirius could answer. "He's such a lovely boy, truly! It's been a joy to have him."

Hermione didn't imagine Sirius' smile growing wider and his eyes shining bright the moment he saw his father's pleased smile.

Seeing Sirius this happy, Hermione couldn't stop herself from musing out loud: "You must be proud of him."

Sirius' freeze was painfully obvious as Hermione's smile, too, dropped at realizing her misstep. Watching Lord Black creasing his brows, Hermione's heart filled with dread. She shouldn't have said-

"Yeah," the whisper of Lord Black was quite unexpected. His brows relaxed, there was no smile on his face, but he looked thoughtful instead. "Yes, I am."

As if sobering from his admission, Lord Black added, "He honoured his host properly and seem to have left a good impression on you, Miss Dagworth-Granger. At the second thought, he has the wild streak of his grandmother's, but I hope he hasn't been a trouble to handle."

"No, of course not."

Hermione didn't know what else to say as she felt like she interrupted a special moment. Lord Black kept looking at her, studying her face, all the while Sirius was stood next to her, gazing at his father without a word forming on his mouth. He was bewildered but pleased, the pink tint of his cheeks made his bashfulness apparent.

"Mother-?" Sirius finally managed just when Hermione thought she could no longer escape from the pull of Lord Black's eyes- she had been doing her best to not look directly in them.

"She's seen Regulus off and joined her friends. I wait for her to come back, too, but I was looking for you in the meantime." His eyes finally caught Hermione's and he smirked, "As promised."

"T-thank you," Hermione stuttered and blushed. She was about to say something about how it was nice of them to let her have Sirius again, but Lord Black beat her to it.

"I should be thanking you, for taking such great care of my son."

The whistle of the train sounded which had the three of them wincing at the unexpected sound. Hermione realized how less of the crowd remained and most of them had already lined closer to the wagons.

Somebody flailed arms from one of the windows of the train, and a shout accompanied, "SIRIUS!"

"James!" Sirius replied not as loud, but Harry's father saw Sirius respond and made gestures to have him join them.

"I better go," Sirius said. Before Hermione knew what was happening, arms were around her. Sirius hugged her so tight that Hermione shrieked. She forgot how tall he was even now, around five feet and seven inches. Taller than her by a mere few inches.

Pulling himself away, Sirius turned to nod to his father. "Father." Then he ran to the train.

Hermione waved to him, nodding fiercely as he shouted, "Send me letters!"

She hadn't realised her eyes were teary until the train was lost out of sight. Sniffing, she laughed at the oddness of the situation. She felt like a mother herself, sending a child away to Hogwarts! How absurd was that? The past two weeks she had really gotten used to having Sirius around, though. Her house felt more like home with him. He was her family. Being the noise, the presence, the happiness in her life.

She was alerted with a handkerchief in her line of sight. Raising her eyes to find Lord Black offering her the black fabric, she smiled to him and accepted the kindness.

Patting over her eyes to rid of tears, she turned to Lord Black. "Thank you. I will miss him, that's all. It's been amazing to have him."

Hermione couldn't help but stare at train tracks where the wagons stood a moment ago. The longer Lord Black was silent without answering her, the more aware Hermione became of the two of them standing side by side. She couldn't get herself to meet his eyes, then.

"You care about him," Lord Black finally commented. At the sound of his deep voice, Hermione turned to him, the rich sound compelling her to look in the depths of his grey eyes.

And she did exactly that. They gazed into each other's eyes, looking for something none were aware what, and Hermione felt intrigue replace the drain of Sirius' departure.

Who was this man? Truly? She knew him as Sirius' father, but not even once has Sirius mentioned his parents while he stayed with her. Regulus sure, but his father? Even he talked more about his mother back in her original time, Hermione reminded herself. However, that dinner she had attended and today, Lord Black didn't seem so remote to fatherhood. He was strict, yes, but nonetheless a father to Sirius.

Her brows knitted together at that. What kind of a father was he, though? Sirius had been abused throughout his childhood. He had been abandoned by his family! Banished from the name, even. He was already mistreated. Shying away from contact, having bouts of temper and accidental magic too, not to mention closing off the outside world now and again.

Two weeks were enough to observe that much. She had concluded that the presence of his friends in school and being away from his abusers helped throughout his stay in Hogwarts. But staying with Hermione had been a new experience, and Sirius had once confessed how he worried about his mother's reaction for not having gone back home. "They let me go to the Potters. Mother reprimands me for associating with  _blood-traitors_ ," -he spat that word- "But overall I think she is fine with it because she likes it that she doesn't have to put up with me for that month."

Remembering small details like that, Hermione's face soured further. What was this man to Sirius, then? As a father, did he let his wife treat his son like this?

 _He must have known_ , Hermione insisted internally and her anger grew.

Not a moment ago, the man had said he was proud of his son though. And Hermione saw no malice in his expression. He was distant and strict with Sirius, sure, but abuse him?

"Miss Dagworth-Granger- Hermione, can I call you Hermione?"

Hermione suppressed her thoughts, smoothed her anger and concentrated at the man. She would give him the benefit of the doubt, and first contemplate to murder Walburga. Hermione had evidence on her. Orion Black would come next if he wasn't free of charges, so to speak.

Hermione was a capable witch, in every sense.

Nodding to him, she let him continue. "I would like to hear more about Sirius' stay and how my son is doing, especially for school. I don't have the closest relationship with him, unfortunately."

"Oh," Hermione managed to comment. The remainder of her anger extinguished at that last confession.  _Give the benefit of doubt_ , indeed.

A keen smirk at his lips, Lord Black asked, "Would you join me over dinner tonight? We'd dine and discuss."

Hermione blinked, shocked beyond words. As the words settled in, her cheeks flamed. Was Orion Black asking her out?

No, no, no. He was married. And he just wanted to discuss his son; regarding Hermione as private teacher or something.

She could talk with Lord Black, cautiously venture about their family life and help Sirius in some way, at least. She could do that. That was a logical thing to do, and beneficial. It made sense.

Without realizing she put a curly strand to the back of ear, she cleared her throat. Meeting his eyes, all she could think of was how she did not ask about whether Walburga Black would join them.

"Yes, I would like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> There is news that school starts for me, lol. So, from today onwards I'm aiming for one chapter per month. I hope I'll manage that :D
> 
> Hope you've liked the chapter ;)
> 
> -Ydream08


	15. Chapter 15

 

_A keen smirk at his lips, Lord Black asked, "Would you join me over dinner tonight? We'd dine and discuss."_

_Without realizing she put a curly strand to the back of ear, she cleared her throat. Meeting his eyes, all she could think of was how she did not ask about whether Walburga Black would join them._

" _Yes, I would like that."_

* * *

Chapter 15

"Orion!" came the shrill voice of Walburga Black and Orion saw precisely how Ms. Dagworth-Granger jumped out of her skin and took a step back. Orion sighed at her scare; it was not like they were remotely close. Not like he would have wanted.

Facing the source of his irritation while unbuttoning the front of his suit, Orion eyed his wife whose joy diminished by the time she took in Ms. Granger's appearance.

Nothing was amiss with the young witch, honestly. Maybe it was uncommon in the wizarding world to wear high-waist blue trousers that flared on the way down, combined with a flowery blouse on top that left a narrow window to show skin. Orion didn't find it as strange as he would have thought. The soft orange of the blouse complimented Ms. Granger's tanned skin, actually. And he definitely would not complain of the view from when he had spotted her in the crowd. Those trousers hugged her bosom completely, in the way that his appreciation was bordering on becoming annoyance. This was a public space, Salazar help him! It wasn't doing his state any good.

Still, looking at Ms. Granger mesmerizing eyes, Orion found himself quite lucky to be in her presence. She was perfect.

Not the same thing he would say about Walburga.

"Orion," she said again. This time she turned to him only, ignoring Ms. Dagworth-Granger altogether. He didn't miss the deprecating side-eye she gave to the young witch. "Regulus is gone and you don't have to wait for me. I wouldn't want to hold you from important business. I'll be joining to tea over the Fawleys'."

Seeing Ms. Dagworth-Granger's expression turn indignant, Orion rose his brows and gave her a look that reasoned how she should not be losing her temper. Walburga did that to many people. But Hermione Dagworth-Granger was not among that 'many' as she had been about to talk back to Walburga.

Her pretty mouth closed, and she faced away for the duration that Walburga was there.

"I apologize for her unbearable presence," Orion said when his wife left. His smirk visibly relaxed Ms. Dagworth-Granger. "On the hindsight, I shouldn't leave you with such a sour mood as I caused it myself, however indirectly. What do you say we go on an early lunch, instead?"

Her surprise at his straightforwardness brought a smile to her lips. It was beautiful, just as the glint in her eyes while she responded, " _I_ wouldn't want to hold you from important business."

Orion snickered, feeling overjoyed at the playfulness of Ms. Dagworth-Granger. How much would he have given to show exactly what would be fun. Tickling her occurred to him, and for a split second he imagined both of them in a bed in the most luxurious suite of his hotel, her laughter filling the room while her shrieks to get his hands off of her filled his ears. He would contain her frenzy, her wrists in his hands, and he would kiss her stomach where he had tickled her. Then he would go down further, and further...

Stopping that last step he took towards her, only now realizing he had been nearing her, Orion cleared his throat. He shook his thoughts out of his mind. Immediately. "Funny, I'll give you that."

She laughed, not as loud and breathless as in his previous thoughts, but the soft sound quickened his heartbeat, giving him a thrill lost to him the past decades of his life.

"I know this place…" Orion dared to circle his arm loosely around her waist and Disapparated them before Ms. Dagworth-Granger could protest.

Her gasp at coming to close contact with him echoed in his ears as sweet bliss.

* * *

It was first dinner, then lunch, and now she was in his arms- although just for Side-Apparition.

Hermione put a few steps between them as she concealed her blush. Fortunately her summer tan didn't make it painfully obvious how effected she was.

"You could have warned me," Hermione reprimanded the man- an overgrown child very much how Sirius used to be. She couldn't believe this similarity with father and son. Even the impish smile on his face reminded Hermione of her old Sirius. Peculiar how he picked these things from his father even though Sirius Black never mentioned him.

Hermione eyed the man again, and seeing him like this, close to her, smiling and lively, she couldn't help but think he looked younger than his actual years.

Remembering the look he had over him only a few moments ago, the look of interest and, Godric-forbid, _hunger_ , Hermione had registered Orion Black's youthfulness alright.

"It just surprised me."

"You are perfectly right, Hermione." His reply deepened the pink hue to Hermione's cheeks. She played safe and nodded, unsure of what else to say. He nodded back and gestured for her to walk ahead.

Falling to an easy rhythm next to her, Lord Black- Orion exhaled slowly. "The restaurant is Italian. One of my associate's actually. Rather new if I remember right. I came by once for their opening- how long ago was that… maybe a few months, I'm uncertain."

"Your associate's?"

Orion nodded. "Here it is."

Hermione walked inside, followed by Orion. She was distantly aware Orion asking for a table of two and a waitress helping them to their table. The restaurant was breathtakingly inviting. One wouldn't understand from the outside as it adorned its name much similar to the shops of Diagon Alley, and the building was one of the ancient ones made of red bricks. It was like every other place that neighboured it- only from the outside.

Once the Italian name caught the eye and the customer dared to step in, the dimly lit restaurant brought a relaxing and composed atmosphere. The furnishing was dark in tones, timber made, but various plants scattered around the room overall left a natural impression. There were Italian paintings of land and seas, frames of maps and other similar decorations that reminded of the ancestral land.

Hermione loved such restaurants that avidly captured a romantic depth of their country and urged the visitor to feel the atmosphere. As immersed as she was, also chiding herself for her lack of knowledge of the place (it was 70s but still, this place must have survived till the 90s), Hermione barely took notice of how Orion helped her to her seat and already accepted the menus from the waitress, sending her away.

"I'll wager you've liked the place?"

Hermione turned to Orion, an expression of disbelief and shock over her face. Needed he put it so bluntly?

"Indeed, I have." She grinned seeing his amusement, not meeting her eyes but perusing the menu. Taking his queue, she searched over for something to eat.

They were silent while Orion called for the waitress and ordered for the two of them. Hermione didn't put up a fight with the gesture, having fought with Evan countless times over the same thing. At least Orion hadn't ordered _for_ her, as in without asking her opinion. That was a mistake Evan had done.

"So, Hermione," came Orion's voice and Hermione had to swiftly pay attention to the man seated across from her. "I know you only from our short chat over dinner that day you came over Grimmauld Place. Around when my niece was to wed?"

Hermione nodded. "Ah, yes. Congratulations on the wedding again. And Evan had dragged me along to that dinner. Never had the chance to tell this to you but I'm sorry to have intruded like that. I didn't know it was a family event-"

"-Nonsense," Orion dismissed. "You were welcome, _are_ welcome- the Black family is a good acquaintance to have if I dare say."

Hermione shook her head, a grin on her face. Blacks were hopeless. One way or another all of them were conceited. Bellatrix with her superiority, Narcissa with her grandeur, Sirius with his charms… She shouldn't be surprised Orion Black was a proud family member. For what he was proud of, Hermione couldn't say because that was one thing Sirius had never prided himself for: _being_ a Black.

"Thank you. I'm immensely happy to have met Sirius, actually."

The quirk of his eyebrows was the only sign that Orion Black was surprised, Hermione stared at the charming grin that split his handsome face following that. He swallowed from his wine, and as he was about to answer, food arrived.

"To my knowledge, you're a Healer? I can't imagine how you found time to tutor Sirius, on top of that."

"I _was_ a Healer," Hermione corrected him. Although she wanted to eat more of the pasta, better would it be to answer. It was delicious. "When I had to leave France, I didn't think how I would continue to work. You see, finding my parents was the most important quest. And I never envisioned to stay here longer than necessary."

"You are here now, knowing full well whom your parents are."

Hermione took a sip of her wine. "Well, plans change, I suppose."

"Better that they did," Orion raised his glass. Hermione cleared her throat and fought against her rapidly beating heart, and she softly clanked her glass against his.

"Better, yes." His eyes never left hers as he drank. A tingling in her nether regions caused her to fidged at her seat, and she had to avert her eyes. "Long story short, I'm here! No longer a Healer, but I wouldn't say I'm free with my time. Sirius-"

"-Ah, yes! You are most definitely not. Your fame precedes you, I have to confess. I've already heard a few of your projects."

Hermione stayed silent to see what Orion would comment about it. It was a trick she learned from Abraxas. As she played with her food, chewing slower and reaching for her glass, she was giving time for Orion to go ahead and prompt her to speak.

Then, she would know exactly what was his agenda.

"They are intriguing ideas. And not out of realm of possibilities, especially when you have the Malfoys backing you. Abraxas Malfoy, precisely. He was a good friend from Hogwarts, one year my junior."

This, Hermione did not expect. It was more about the context of ideas many inquired her about, with only a handful breeching to her association with Abraxas. Many were curious about her relationship with him, thanks to that news one time, but not anyone could dare.

Orion Black was not _anyone_.

"Abraxas helps me to find the right audience, most of the times." Hermione knew what she had said was the wrong thing since she uttered the first word, but she had no idea why. Orion had instantly soured his face, brows knitting together, and he mutely reached for his glass.

In his silence, Hermione tried to dissipate his bad mood. What was with the man, though? "As a foreigner, it's hard to find my way around British bureaucracy, honestly." Oh, she was simply spouting nonsense to fit to her ploy. "You people do things quite differently."

A small smile at the end still didn't reflect in the man. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Black?"

"Orion," he corrected to which she echoed lest she upset the man more.

"Orion, is there something wrong? Did I say something-"

"I should not hold you much longer- It would be inappropriate for me to hold you here. It would dishonor both you and your betrothed, _Abraxas_ , and I would never wish this upon your ignorance."

"Wha-" As Orion wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin next to his half-finished meal, Hermione was stood there flabbergasted and confused like a fish out of water. _Bethorted? To Abraxas out of all those people?!_

Orion raising his hand to call for the waitress, snapped Hermione out of her reverie. "Wait, Orion. What betrothed?" Aware that he barely registered what she said, Hermione reached his forearm to stall him. That's how Harry paid attention most of the times when he was raging. He would be more vocal about it- unlike Orion Black who fumed with the only indication of his clenched jaw. "Orion, I'm not betrothed."

Hermione realized too late that the waitress had already arrived. Blushing fiercely to be eavesdropped on that bit of information, Hermione addressed the witch and ordered desserts for them.

As she did, Orion relaxed under her touch but continued to stare at her. Surprising it was that he let her order.

"It's all foul gossip," Hermione shook her head. Only now extracting her hand to fully lean on the back of her armchair. "It's been barely more than half a year since my arrival here, surely that's not enough time to find the one?"

Her slight joke was not well received. His knitted brows told that much. "The one?"

Hermione exhaled. "The one I love?" At his bewildered look, Hermione explained, "My parents are dead. So are my friends. It shouldn't be much to ask that I marry a person I love?"

Of course, this was another Hermione talking. Marriage was a far-away dream for her, and finding love. She had to save the world first. Maybe not the _world_ , but definitely Britain. Wizarding Britain. Save Sirius Black, James and Lily Potter, and many more.

Thinking of her aims, Hermione reached for her glass and took a deep gulp. It did no good to waste time on this nonsense. "Anyway. Suffice it to say my hands are full with those projects you've heard."

There was silence. Their desserts came and even the clumsiness of the waitress did not break the stare of the two.

"So Abraxas…?"

Oh, for Godric's sake! "A good friend," Hermione exhaled. On the second thought, "An ally, more like it."

Why was Orion Black so fixated on this? Her pounding head couldn't answer it. She decided to let it go, as she didn't want to spend more time on inquiring about it.

This meal should have been about Sirius. It didn't matter that Orion was sat across from her. It didn't matter how dashing he looked. It didn't matter that his sharp eyes intently focused on her.

"Good," Orion replied, later taking a bite from his dessert. "I heard you're opening a preliminary school for teaching wizarding customs. How will you conduct this, I wonder."

Just like that the mood had shifted. Oh, Hermione could answer that. "First, it is vital to detect Muggleborn children. I want this project to eventually include all magical children but foremost we have to reach for Muggleborns in a similar way that Hogwarts sends them letters. A similar tracing spell, and voila, we can educate both children and parents."

"Educate the parents? About what? Muggles needn't know anything about us."

Hermione never thought about how she should have been offended on behalf of parents like her own, because the confusion and innocent inquiry were so evident in Orion's voice that Hermione instead went on to explain why education of both parents and children was important. She took half more hour to expand on how and what to educate them, and what benefit it would have for the wizarding society. Better parents meant happier children, and those magical children would make a considerable portion of their society. Aside from the quality workforce increase from the Muggleborns(because both Hermione and Orion agreed Hogwarts was not enough) Hermione added how it would better social circles or lead to much more civil work relationship. And a united British Wizarding Society meant a better image internationally.

With Orion's questions, Hermione had had to delve into prejudice and archaic tradition and nearly everything.

That of course rose the Squib argument and Hermione was quick to jump to her next project of actually conducting a research on this phenomena. And this time there was no help from DNA and genetic tests (it was 1970s) so Hermione speculated with Orion how there should be spells or equations of Arithmancy and Divination combined that could lead to a risk calculation, if pureblood families refused to share information for a retrospective study.

She mentioned removing some laws against Muggleborns while slowly enacting new ones in their favour, but such minor ideas Hermione only mentioned in the passing by. Abraxas was more in charge with those ones to start with. She had more pressing issue to attend before getting truly stuck in the bureaucracy of the Ministry.

Voldemort and his Horcruxes were her ultimate goal. There was Sirius, before that, but still.

Of course, without Hermione realising, two hours passed like that. Talking about her projects and plans. Orion opened another bottle of wine, listened to her and asked questions.

"I'm still thinking about the school project," Orion wondered when Hermione finally silenced. "Laws change all the time, for the better or worse, but there are no private institutions for education. Especially for younger children. Only Hogwarts."

"Nothing? Were Sirius and Regulus home-schooled, then?" Hermione inquired, having seen the best chance to finally bring up Sirius into their conversation. She had really lost tract.

"Yes. We paid for a matron. A half-blood, relative of the Greengrasses. Twice removed cousin from dear Lissa's side. She didn't stay long, though, if I'm not mistaken. Walburga didn't see eye to eye with her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was scandal for Mrs. Black to have let a Half-blood inside her house. "Your wife seems like the last person to welcome someone less than a pureblood."

Observing Orion's poker face, Hermione wondered what passed his mind. It was just that… Hermione wasn't daft. She and Orion had been dining alone, getting lost in each others' gazes, laughing at their jokes, and Hermione knew it wasn't only her whom wanted to end this evening with the company of one another.

They had not conversed about Sirius, and until now both of them had pretended Walburga Black did not exist.

Hermione's heart squeezed painfully at the realization of exactly what she had been doing, turning an innocent lunch to something more, actually stretching it well into the evening, drinking wine with a handsome and married man and in fact imagining him without his robes, those arms caging her in and his lips on her own, her neck, her breasts, everywhere…

Blinking to meet with Orion's gaze, Hermione cleared her throat. What had been said the last? She had asked something… something relevant… oh, yes, Walburga Black and a Half-blood under the same roof.

"It's my house, foremost," Orion said finally. Finishing his glass, Orion stood to his feet. Hermione followed him, her own glass already empty. Meal was finished, and in between smiles and paying the check, Orion led Hermione outside.

It wasn't yet dark outside but the sun had hidden behind clouds apparently. Rain would come, quite contrary how the weather was in the morning. Hermione sighed, realizing she wore a simple blouse. She didn't feel cold, though. How could she, while Orion Black circled his arm around her waist?

Hermione really didn't know what she was doing. She was aware. Partially. They hadn't done anything wrong, that's for sure. She had just explained her projects. Every last one of them. Oh, Godric, Abraxas was going to kill her. She had been stupid to be so open.

"It was a lovely lunch," Orion's deep voice came and did little good for Hermione's down mood. It was more a _sinful_ lunch. "Seems like I held you longer, though."

Hermione snorted at that, both of them aware it was she doing most of the talking today. Orion's handsome smirk gave away that he had heard it.

"And we never got the chance to talk about my son," Orion added. "I must insist we meet again, then. Would tomorrow for breakfast be too early?"

Hermione's widened eyes were enough of an answer as Orion snickered. The wind blew just then and ruffled her hair. The next, Orion's slender fingers were tucking strands away from her face.

"Tell me when," he whispered. Hermione gulped at realising that they were close. Actually just close enough to kiss, but simply closer than a mere professional relationship. And she could not ignore how he sounded. His voice raspy, and his words insinuating more than a simple breakfast.

It wasn't just Hermione imagining it, right?

"I-" Hermione didn't know what to say. "I don't know? I have to check."

At that his brows knitted back together. Honestly, Hermione saw this man either passionate or irritated to the point of rage.

"I'll owl you?" Hermione asked to which Orion nodded, pleased.

"Make sure you do," he insisted. Hermione didn't realize how she relished his warmth until he took a step back and bid farewell. There was a pause in which neither of them Disapparated, the silence electrifying.

Hermione gave a small smile and decided escaping would be the right course of action. She had to think about what happened today and what she would do about it.

* * *

"No offense, but I'm not attracted to you."

Abraxas halted in his steps, his coat in the air when he had intended to hang it. His eyes found the curly haired young witch who currently occupied his own armchair. He should have been angrier at her obscenity, this was _his_ study room, but Salazar help him, Abraxas had grown a soft spot for Hermione.

She was straightforward, caring and thoughtful. They could laugh together, especially about their recent conjoined acquaintances, and she was a person full of life, ambition and thrive.

Even before his illness, Abraxas had to confess he had locked away that enthusiastic personality of his. The death of his parents by Grindelwald had changed him as a person. The young man he used to be had forever silenced.

Abraxas had to make up for those lost years though. He would multiply his fortune, protect his family and lead the wizarding world away from the chaos it was about to bring on itself.

Hermione helped with them all at once. She was indeed a catalyst to why he was striving to accomplish a great many things at this age, aside from those he already had as a Malfoy.

"Beg your pardon?" Sure as hell he did not know what nonsense she was spouting.

"They are saying that we are betrothed or something?" Hermione explained. "And I've been thinking about it. Again. Because it's not like I _never_ thought about it."

At that Abraxas rose his brows. Was the witch proposing? Smirking at this rather funny turn of events, Abraxas hung his coat and made himself comfortable by the chair across from his desk.

"You want to marry me?" Abraxas asked, not all that opposed to the idea but not particularly interested as well. He had done one marriage and it had been enough, in all honesty.

"What? No!" came Hermione's immediate reply to which Abraxas laughed. Oh, Merlin bless her soul!

"Where did this come from?" Abraxas inquired. Today they were supposed to read through the remaining section in the Malfoy library. Hermione had the list of warding spells and a few parchments of how to successfully cast a Fiendfyre, and if they were overall finished early in the library, they would practice one last time. Unfortunately Abraxas' alternative of _somehow_ acquiring Basilisk venom had turned to be fruitless. He was waiting for a reply from a dealer in Egypt, but still.

It had also taken this long mainly because the Hermione couldn't be sure whether the destruction of those Horcruxes would come to the Dark Lord's notice. Abraxas was in the process of pulling some strings on the few people he knew were in higher ranks of the Dark Lord's circle so that they could make sure their proceedings would go unnoticed. With how he had separated himself from the cause, he nor Lucius could be the espionage, but they had friends.

Malfoys always had friends.

"Nowhere. It's just… When I first met you, probably till I became your Healer, it did occur to me that you are a handsome man."

"Thank you."

"Oh, hush," Hermione chastised him but that only broadened his smile. "Maybe because none of us acted on it afterwards, but now I see you just as a friend. An ally. A confidence. Yeah, something like that."

"Not that I'm not flattered by this disclosure," Abraxas cut in. "But I don't understand why a topic like this bothers you right now. You are a young witch. Smart and pretty. There will be many suitors when the time comes. And honestly, I thought you planned for it to be after we secured the future. Maybe not even in this timeline, as you might find a way back, or _forward_."

Abraxas watched the shift in Hermione as her eyes became unfocused, her features hardened and voice trailed with a soft, "Yes."

It must be because he mentioned her own time. They had discussed this more than a few times, but sometimes Hermione insisted on not thinking about her past life. She had let go of it. And although Abraxas wished for their future to be different -it was different even now with his good health- he couldn't help but wish for dear Hermione to find her way to her friends. Maybe some other dimension or alternate universe, but definitely there had to be a way.

Coming to know her the past two months much more sincerely, Abraxas knew how pained she was at the loss of her loved ones. She felt immense guilt for changing their reality, and her anxiety over whether she was doing it right most oftenly came across to Abraxas, though he never knew how to console her.

A crying witch, he could handle. Abraxas had to admit, this particular one was beyond his reach of comforting. She needed more than what he could give. He could give her all the galleons and followers in the Ministry- they were not needed.

"You will cast Fiendfyre on the Diadem, tomorrow."

Hermione's eyes found his, and his determination woke her out of her reverie. There was work to be done, and Abraxas would make sure they would get to it on time.

* * *

Hermione had written to him, alright. But the young witch insisted on talking about his son, Sirius. As she was only available in the evening next week, her wish complicated matters.

Surely, Orion could not dine her in his hotels, imagining a night together in his suite, but converse about his son throughout the dinner. That particular topic would not lead to him enchanting Hermione.

Orion could be many things, but foremost he was objective and critical. He would not be impressing Hermione with his fatherhood.

What to do about that, he was not sure.

It was worrying that this could be their last meeting as well. Orion was not an endless source when it came to his son, and if Hermione went through everything over a second meal, there would be no need to meet up a third time. At this point, he was indeed thinking Hermione was seeking him out only for the welfare of his son.

That last thought wasn't practically the truth, as he remembered quite well how pretty she blushed at his proximity. She laughed at his playful jokes, met with his heated stares and did those many signs a woman did when they were interested.

Playing with her hair, licking or biting her lips, averting her eyes with a shy smile and most importantly leaning towards him when the chance arose.

Orion knew it was only a matter of time. For now, Orion desired the witch and wished to have her underneath him for a most delicious night, but he had to confess his shortsightedness indeed bothered him.

What then? He was a father of two, and dear Walburga was very much alive. The thought of having a _mistress_ didn't sit well with him. Why else would he have not already divulged in such luxury?

Exhaling, Orion finally wrote a reply to Hermione's letter. Simple. They would meet next Saturday for dinner. It would be in Melania Hotel, the very first one he had opened two decades ago here in the center of London. He would dine them in the terrace and she would appreciate the view. Hermione liked those nuances, he had realized.

Orion would make sure their conversation led to an enjoyable night. That was enough. For now.


	16. Chapter 16

Sirius wasn't expecting post from the second day of school. He never received any post actually. Well, there were the occasional ones from Uncle Alphard, but ever since he had gone overseas, even those had ended.

"Who is it from?" Remus asked, already noticing Sirius' appraisal of the letter. James and Peter were opening letters from their parents as usual. Remus was the only one available to pay attention to Sirius's surprise.

"I don't know," Sirius mumbled but he was lying. How could he admit to whom the letter belong to? The moment the magnificent grey owl had flown low towards their table, Sirius knew. It was Hephaestus. His Father's owl.

This didn't mean Sirius remotely knew why he received a letter.

Turning the letter in trembling hands, he gulped and readied himself to read it. It was inevitable.

_September 2, 1972_

_To Sirius Black,_

_I hope my letter finds you well. Work hard for your classes and make sure you please your teachers. Send my regards to Regulus as well._

_Your father,_

_Orion Black_

Sirius didn't know what to say. The letter was empty in content. Not that it was a blank paper, but it just felt of no importance.

The parchment wouldn't have mattered at all if it were not from his Father. And it wrote he wanted to say hi to Regulus, albeit formally.

His Father had never written to him the past three years Sirius had attended Hogwarts.

"Well, that's not bad," Remus said. "What will you write back?"

* * *

_September 4, 1972_

_Father,_

_I am well. The classes have just begun- I'm doing better. Regulus was sorted into Slytherin._

_Sirius_

* * *

_September 4, 1972_

_To Sirius,_

_Which classes are you taking this year? Has Ms. Dagworth-Granger's tutoring helped you so far?_

_Pass my congratulations to Regulus. Do you come across often with your brother? Gryffindor and Slytherin common rooms were not close._

_Orion_

* * *

_September 5, 1972_

_Father,_

_I'm taking Arithmancy, Runes and Muggle Studies. Hermione helped me with Arithmancy the most, and so far it has made a significant difference. She owled me about school too, so we keep in touch._

_Gryffindor Tower and Slytherin Dungeons are quite afar, but I see Regulus during meals. If it is not too much trouble, Regulus would appreciate a letter from you regarding to his Sorting._

_Sirius_

* * *

_September 5, 1972_

_Sirius,_

_What do you ask of Ms. Dagworth-Granger, I wonder? I used to be an exemplary student myself especially in Ancient Runes and Potions. You can ask me as well. How is dear Horace Slughorn, now? Does he continue to teach Potions? He used to be my Head of House, too._

_I very well know where the Gryffindor common room is, and had the chance to visit the place in all honesty. I am curious as to whether you've similarly had a reason to visit the Dungeons. Be sure to check on your brother and don't cause anything Slytherins can hold against him. Blacks value family first._

_Also, I think it would be more convenient to buy you and your brother personal owls. My own owl, Hephaestus, tires to make the trip to Hogwarts and back, unfortunately._

_Orion_

* * *

_September 10, 1972_

_Father,_

_I never thought you would value_ _**family**_ _first._

* * *

Orion felt down upon reading the straightforward sentence. His correspondence with Regulus was not like this. His younger son was more generous when it came to provide information on his impressions of the school, talk about his classes and mention Sirius time to time.

Sirius, on the other hand, was quite unpredictable. Orion had thought they were progressing until sending that last letter. The reply that was crumpled in his hand had arrived in four days' time; much longer than the previous owls.

Orion was not just upset of Sirius's dour reply. It angered him that Sirius could write such a sentence back to him. To his father. Where was Sirius' respect? This was no manner to talk to him in!

Tapping his fingers on the table, Orion tried to calm enough to think of what to do. What he shouldn't do was sending a Howler. Although his son deserved an earful, it would not be appropriate for the whole Great Hall to listen to their private conversation.

Not that Orion knew what to say. Sure, he could bring Sirius in line, remind him whom the adult here was. That he should be respected. But the implication of what Sirius had said?

Orion scoffed. Of course he valued family. Above everything else.

Why would he marry Walburga if it were not the case? Why would he shoulder the responsibility of the Ancient House of Black? Not only had he accepted his duties to his family, Orion had successfully honoured them.

To hear the contrary from his son left him baffled.

Initially Orion had owled Sirius with the intention of strengthening their bond, which Orion could later find common ground with Hermione, but he hadn't expected there to be an… _issue_ , for the lack of word, to indeed share with Hermione.

With how Hermione had a good dialogue with Sirius, she could perhaps enlighten him about his son's horrendous behaviour and insane accusation. Orion _wanted_ to hear Hermione's explanation on this topic. It didn't make sense to him- it was absurd! If his son had said this to his face, Orion doubted he could maintain his sanity.

Hermione would explain. Surely she could. He could proceed from there. Nodding, his indignation dissipated upon coming to a decision. He could wait the two days until Saturday. He _should_.

* * *

"He's not sent you any other letter?"

James' questioned distracted Sirius in the most crucial moment: His quill that he had _finally_ balanced on his nose fell. Sirius felt the dampness of the ink on his left cheek by consequence.

"Thanks, mate," he muttered while wiping his cheek. Already halfway done with his Arithmancy homework, Sirius was currently taking a break. He was actually doing the homework _again_ upon Hermione's pestering that the first time he had done the job sloppy at best. "What did you say? Another letter?"

To his snort, James creased his brows but Sirius didn't lose a beat. He leaned forward so that Madam Pince wouldn't breathe down their neck. "It was odd for him to send letters in the first place. Not even the hardest Bludger hit could change a person like that. Look at you Jamie, the same love sick puppy of Evans _regardless_ of all those trips to the hospital wing."

"Point taken," James mumbled but the topic was not dropped because Remus was fed up with the situation. Sirius was annoyed with him, actually. The werewolf was the one to insist Sirius to reply to his Father ever since the first letter. Remus had explained that his father took the effort, and Sirius shouldn't be a spoiled brat to dismiss this.

" _I'm not lucky as you; my father would never write to me. So shut the whining and write," Remus had finally yapped._

"You're being unreasonable," provided Remus. "Maybe your old man really wants to change things between the two of you? You're not helping."

"Helping? _I_ should _help_?" Sirius bit his tongue, then shot to his feet and scrambled for his belongings. "Forget it." His friends didn't know the details of his family as Sirius had always wanted it to be that way, and he wasn't going to change that today.

Dashing out the library, Sirius headed to the common room. He was not quite serene but it wouldn't do him any good to wreck their dormitory, mess his bed or smash chairs. He did kick the door in his anger, but it only retaliated with cracking sound in his foot and white pain at his toe.

He lied down a bit, but figuring his feet wouldn't get better with him cursing to Merlin and Godric, Sirius limped to the Hospital Wing.

By the time he was down in the Great Hall for dinner, everyone was already seated. It was packed for a Saturday, but Sirius guessed it was because nobody was allowed to Hogsmeade from the second week of school.

Sirius pointedly sat next to James and opened the one topic Remus rarely joined: Quidditch. Even Peter was more enthusiastic about the sport.

After meal everyone took their times to retreat to the dormitories. It was probably just coincidence that Sirius ran to Regulus and his friends on their way out of the Great Hall.

"Hey, Reggie!" Sirius called and indicated his little brother that he wanted to talk privately.

"Don't call me that, Sirius." Embarrassing Regulus in a brotherly way was kind of Sirius' hobby, so he couldn't help but grin at his younger brother's flushed cheeks.

Being sorted into Slytherin and as a result having been deemed as the 'future' of the Blacks by their Mother's very vocal Howler on the third day, Regulus tried to act older than his years. Sirius was eerily aware how he tried to copy their Father's composed and aloof attitude, although not as masterfully.

"You're my little brother," was Sirius' cheek reply. "Say, have you heard from Father?"

Regulus nodded. He was unlike the other Slytherins Sirius had the misfortune to know. Regulus was open and forthcoming, although that didn't mean he was slow to pick of others' agenda or make fine judgements of character. "He sent me a letter this morning. Why, haven't you received one, too?"

At that Sirius scratched the back of his head, trying to avoid the question. "It's nothing. I just-"

"He must have been busy," Regulus provided. None of them wanted to acknowledge that it could very well be intentional. As unaware Regulus was of Sirius' last letter, the one he had sent to Father, Sirius couldn't blame his younger brother of worrying of their father's seemingly weird behaviour.

Sirius didn't have it in him to tell Regulus not to get his hopes up. Sirius had been let down much more than him. It wasn't as easy to trust their parents. Not when Sirius was the one they hated the most.

Feeling hot anger rush through his veins, Sirius swallowed to suppress lashing out. Of course his father would continue to owl Regulus. Wasn't he the son both of their parents wanted all along?

Sirius was easier to give up of. It was simple magic to remove him from the tapestry to open space for Regulus to be the heir.

"See you later, I better catch up to my friends," Sirius mumbled and left Regulus lest he give away his shameful jealousy.

* * *

"Come back here," mewled the woman but he was not up for a second round. It wasn't like he wished to cuddle or something.

Walking to the loo, he pissed before going to grab another drink. Firewhiskey dampened his sore throat very well after their effortful excursions.

He had only drunk two swallows before arms came around his torso and Rabastan felt her soft breasts press to his back. Manicured fingers raked his front and finally curled a finger through his chest hair.

"You shouldn't leave me alone," she whispered to the shell of his ear. Rabastan shivered but gracefully smiled so that he could face his treasure.

Walburga Black was indeed a treasure. A golden hefty treasure just for his own, and a source none could drain away unknown to him. Rabastan loved to keep her as his own. His relations with his stingy family had got better ever since.

Why wouldn't it? Dear Roddy was the one spending the family vaults for some girl while Rabastan was the honourable son who represented the LeStranges with wealth, propriety and dignity.

Rodolphus had indeed become a topic of gossip. He was the fool to purchase a ring with half the vault and engrave Bellatrix Black's name in it. The jeweler in Diagon Alley was hardly tight-lipped. Not to mention, the supposed-bride was known to fancy another.

Looking down at his own fortune, Rabastan dismissed the thought of his brother. All he needed was his own name and a sum of money for him only. Walburga provided indeed that.

"I told you, the document of the French property is finalized," Walburga purred at content of his attention turning to her curves. "It is yours. We could have just gone there for the weekend, and nobody would have never known."

Rabastan kissed her for a peace of mind. He didn't want to argue with the woman again this evening for her lack of devotion. Rabastan had proved that he saw no other woman after that last affair, but Walburga in return had not proved she would do _anything_ to have him.

That manor in France was just a small compromise from Walburga. If she thought he would stay as the loyal puppy just for that and fuck her as if she were a goddess, then she had to share some more.

"France is the largest magical community in Europe after here, luv. If it were, say a private beach house in Greece, then we could indeed had that gate-away you so wish."

Rabastan played with her sensitive nipple to draw a whimper. At forty-five, Walburga Black was a hungry bitch for attention still. A characteristic that had made her convenient if not for the complication of her marriage.

"I can't- I told you Orion has the rest of our estates in his name. I lost claim to all mine when I married into the family- oh, yes, Rab, that's lovely!"

His fingers in her cunt, Rabastan cut their conversation short. He had to do something about this whole thing. There were many years till the kids inherited anything, and if not for Orion Black, dear Walburga here would own every single Galleon of the Blacks. She could claim Cygnus and Alphard Black's vaults and even the remainder of that blood-traitor Lucretia's.

Only Orion Black stood in the way.

"Cum for me, Walburga," he whispered in her ear while his mind tried to work a plan. Walburga would do as he said as long as he fucked her senseless and called her all the praising adjectives even Aphrodite could never deserve. It was that easy.

Rabastan was simply very close to secure himself. He would do it; no second thoughts.


	17. Chapter 17

" _I'll lose them again, won't I, Hermione? I thought you were my best friend. What do you think you can accomplish? You think you will defeat the Dark Lord? He will kill my parents again. And I will end up living with the Dursleys. Again. I can't fucking believe you're doing this to me! Is this what smart Hermione Granger came up with? Pathetic. You were always memorized-books talking on feet, nothing more."_

"Harry-don't!" Hermione cried out, shaking her head. It didn't subside, though. Voices ran deep in her mind. Endless.

" _There is no answer you can find in a book, 'Mione. It's not simply swish-and-flick. But that's what you do best. You can't do this without us, you know. Hell, you might even kill us. What then? It was Harry who killed Voldemort the first time. What do you think you can do? You said even yourself: Brains won't cut it. Voldemort will finish us and all you will be able to do is cry like you did when Bellatrix showed you the sorry excuse of a witch you are. Admit it, you're not good enough to pull this off."_

"Ron, no, you don't mean it," Hermione whimpered. She was saying versions of this as Harry and Ron's words echoed in her head. Darkness of her room and the emptiness of the Dagworth-Granger Manor only made it painfully obvious that she was alone and hurting. "Harry, I won't let that happen. Let me… Just… I _can_."

She and Abraxas had snuck in Hogwarts. At his age, it had been funny at first to make the adventure through cramped tunnels and deserted corridors. Hermione had cast the Disillusionment charm on both of them, just in case.

Well, the course of the evening changed when they entered the Room of Requirements. Hermione had strongly refused to take the Horcrux out to destroy it somewhere else. The Diadem had been taken care of the first time in this very room and Hermione's back up plan for losing control of the Fiendfyre was ready from her first experience.

She had been distrustful of the effect Voldemort's soul would have on her. She and Abraxas both would cast the warding charms, but neither might be strong enough to maintain them once the Horcrux fought back. And it had.

Hermione had not expected to see Harry and Ron. They were much like how she remembered them in the year of their Hunt. Not the happy Harry, Head of Law Enforcement, husband to Ginny and father to Albus and Sirius. Not the thrilled Ron, Keeper of Chudley Cannons, fiance to Lavender Brown.

They were broken version of themselves- back from the war. When Fred was lost. When the Lupins were lost. When both Harry and Ron were broken beyond measure.

It was Voldemort saying those things at her- Harry and Ron were vessels to his aim, nothing real nor tangible. It was _Tom Riddle_ pulling out the deepest fears of her heart. But he was right. She was undoing the sacrifices the trio had made. Welfare and happiness of their future was simply undone. There was no longer peace.

Voldemort was, right now, very much alive and active.

Sure, Hermione had yet to face Voldemort in person, and the Death Eaters were not public concern as of yet, but Hermione was not blind to the occasional news in the Prophet whether it be pro-purist laws passing or Half Bloods and Muggleborns being fired and punished for no apparent reason.

She _knew_ that it was a matter of time. There were one or two years of complete peace left. And after that, Hermione doubted that she would be less of a target that she used to be as the Muggleborn best friend of Harry Potter in the second Wizarding War.

Target alright, if her gut turned out to be right and Voldemort somehow sensed that his Horcrux was destroyed.

Room of Requirements too was burnt down in this process, but Abraxas had assured Hermione it would not be consequential. For Abraxas it mattered more that they had made it out alive from that hell of a green fire. It was not like Hermione disagreed. It was just that, she had a feeling that coming across Tom Riddle wouldn't be as late as she would have liked.

And she wasn't ready yet. Horcrux Harry and Horcrux Ron had masterfully reminded her that. She never _forgot_.

"No, I…" Hermione whispered to no one in particular. Her nose was clogged, her throat dry and hurting. Not as much as her head though. It ached so severely. "Harry, I can. I have time. I have time to figure it all out. Please- I can."

_I can face Riddle and come out alive._

_I can save your parents._

_I can save Sirius, Fred and Professor Lupin._

" _You can't, Hermione. All you're going to do is ruin the peace we worked so hard to achieve."_

That wasn't a Horcrux- simply herself. Proving her wrong.

Like that, Hermione cried again. Cried till darkness swallowed her.

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Exhaustion was no pretty bed partner once awake.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Not a full bladder either.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

Hermione cracked open her eyes to meet with sunshine peeking from her window. She felt drained but somehow managed to pull herself up at her elbow.

" _Hermione_ ," echoed Harry's voice in her head, and Ron's: "' _Mione._ "

Tears pricked at her eyes but nothing came of Hermione's open mouth because she was so fed up with crying. She would not. Not again. She just…

Oh, Godric. "Why am I crying again?"

As her whimpers turned into sporadic hiccups, she heard the insistant tapping again. Her insides did some twists and gravity helped them along, so the next second, Hermione was rushing to the loo.

She felt empty, but this had to stop. Yesterday had been the depression day; that meant today Hermione was determined to be productive. Even if it were small tasks of casting some cleaning charms, airing her room, and making a to-do-list for tomorrow.

Hermione walked to her wardrobe to choose comfy sweatpants and shirt, the current ones were stained with sweat, tears and snot. A bath would be better, actually.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

To make sure the noise didn't come from the wardrobe, Hermione checked twice, but turning around she figured the source. Behind her window an owl bickered at the glass to grab her attention.

It was no stranger owl, Hermione noticed. When she received the letter, she wasn't surprised to read the name of one James Potter. The revelation somewhat chased away the dark cloud hovering about the young witch.

The parchment had too much " _Lily_ " written on it. He was hopeless. Truly.

"Come," Hermione said to the owl, and walked downstairs for breakfast. She could give it treats. And get herself some tea.

"Oh my," Hermione murmured as she read along. She had served the treats and readied herself a cup of tea.

She couldn't help the snort when James mentioned how beautiful the green of Lily's eyes were- a vibrant emerald. The letter was more or less full of that. James wrote his first day of school and that included, or more like was all about, him coming across with Lily Evans.

Thankfully, at some point came the mention of his friends and Hermione felt a squeezee of her heart at Sirius' name. What was he up to? Had they already turned in their assignments? Hermione had sent away Sirius with promises that he would make himself a study-plan once their schedule was announced. Had he finished that? More importantly, was he abiding it?

Figuring that she wouldn't get answers in her own head, she headed upstairs to pen a letter of her own. Two, actually. James would be miffed if she were not to reply.

That was a plan. Better than her original. More productive. She liked that.

* * *

"You've got a letter, dear." Abraxas handed it to Hermione as he came in his study. He had gone to see Lucius off.

"What is Lucius' plan for today?" Hermione asked conversationally as she scrutinized the letter. "Wait- why is this envelope opened?"

When Hermione's eyes landed on Abraxas, the man stilled just enough for Hermione to gather that he felt embarrassed. Not much, mind you.

"It arrived to my Manor, Hermione," Abraxas explained shortly. Sighing for no reason, he turned his attention to the paperwork on the desk. Thus, he didn't see Hermione's raised brows.

"And?" she persisted. Questioning Abraxas was rather fun as he grudgingly played Hermione's game. Hermione suspected their quarrels worked because Abraxas never thought her as authority. Males had an issue with that. But Hermione was more like a crime partner. They had sealed that topic four days ago when they broke into Hogwarts.

Thankfully, their Fiendfyre incident, although its details were unknown, was blamed on Peeves the Poltergeist as James had informed Hermione.

"I was merely curious!" Abraxas huffed. "You might want to remind your lover to send letters to your house if you don't want it to be read."

Lover- "WHAT?"

The letter was from Orion Black, she knew. But for Abraxas to refer him as… as….as her _lover_?

Hermione read his letter just to be sure.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I'm writing to you to sort out the details of our meeting on Saturday. I would be honoured to dine you in Melania Hotel, here in London. A fine evening in the terrace will hopefully be to your liking. Will 18.00 be appropriate? I will come to accompany you to our destination._

_I'm waiting to hear your reply and address of the Dagworth-Granger property._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Orion_

Six is fine, Hermione thought as her stomach did flips. First James and Sirius' letters, now this made her extremely happy.

Abraxas cleared his throat and Hermione realized she had company. No lies, she was happy to have Abraxas too. Four days after the Horcrux destruction, Hermione wouldn't have been as quickly recovered if not for him.

With a smile, Hermione explained, "It is a simple dinner. We'll talk about Sirius. You know I tutored him, too. James and him. Orion wants to hear about his progress."

Abraxas mock-mimicked Hermione's smile- his eyes were devious. " _Orion_ must be very interested."

Hermione's cheeks flamed. Not only because she realized her slip of Orion's name- 's, but also because she wasn't daft to overlook that Abraxas did not specify what Orion was interested in. No, Mr. Black. Damnit.

"The conversation will be about Sirius," Hermione finalized. And thought about how she would inquiry about Orion's care for Sirius and knowledge to Walburga's treatment of their son.

Thinking about Walburga and a son Orion helped to create, nauseated Hermione because it reminded her that Orion Black was a married man. Just a second ago, she had treated this invitation as a _date_.

She was an idiot.

"As I was saying," Hermione changed the subject. She and Abraxas were in the middle of smuggling a Basilisk in England. Or breaking down the faucets that lead to the chamber of secrets. "The venom itself can be applied to any Horcrux, but that would mean we have to have enough of it for seven Horcruxes- or technically four, we destroyed one and the other two are not made yet. I don't know how much that would measure up to, but if we had a vessel to soak the venom to use it repeatedly..."

* * *

There was a downside of wanting to establish a primary school for Muggleborn children. It simply meant 'TARGET' with neon lights. And that was not smart for these years.

Hermione was on the verge of giving up on the idea but a stubborn part of her wanted to accomplish this. Hell with the wards she had to build for the property, private Aurors she had to employ and even the purebloods she had to suck up to get the permission for place to begin with.

Her stubbornness was not only because she had mentioned the idea in the passing by to some renown and influential people. It was because Hermione was actually positive that if the lack of education in the younger age group was met, it would affect the society directly. Not only in the long run, too.

Lucius had come up with the suggestion. " _Pureblood wives would love to help. You have to be careful how much they interfere, but let me inform you, 'teaching the poor souls unlucky enough to have non-wizarding parents' would definitely be counted as charity work. Mum used to like that. Forgive the language, Father, but- not all of the purebloods are bitches like Walburga Black."_

Later this week, Hermione had spent her days in the Malfoy Manor. Abraxas had forced her out of her own house because they had better things to do than her feeling sorry for herself, and Hermione had ended up talking endlessly with Abraxas -and occasionally with Lucius and Narcissa- about one thing or the other.

Wine helped her headaches, and Sleeping Draughts helped Hermione to never dream of Harry and Ron, but mainly conversing about possibilities for future action plan was distracting.

Those, and her letters.

Her correspondences with Sirius and James both were frequent and well. And, although she had not received any further letters from Orion, his one letter had really made Hermione ecstatic.

Ecstatic would especially define her now as she stood in front of the mirror. Ecstatic alright, _if_ it weren't for the details of that primary school project. _Fantastic._

Hermione chose to wear an off shoulder, tea length dress. She opted for black so that she wouldn't stand out, and wore light makeup to finish her updo. Her hair was simply held together in a loose, lower bun. _Ready as best as she could be!_

With a house as ginormous as this, combined with not having any helpers, Hermione's welcome of Orion was not as magical as movies depicted.

The knock on the door reached her, magnified thanks to charms, and Hermione grabbed her bag to rush to the door.

She opened the door, and managed to say "Hi," while her fingers fumbled to get curly strands out of her mouth. Maybe she should have gone with a tight bun. "You're right on time."

Orion smiled and gestured to take her hand. Kissing the back of it for greeting, his eyes never left hers. Hermione's breath hitched at the contact and couldn't form a reply. Wait- he had not yet said anything. There wouldn't be anything to reply in the first place.

Blushing at her own thoughts, Hermione noted how striking and focused his grey eyes were. It felt like he didn't look anywhere else- or cared. This was new for Hermione. There was one man that had a similarly captivating gaze, but that had lasted till he had her in bed. Those were one-night-stand looks, but this, well, it said more. She hoped that wasn't merely hallucination. Constant one-night-stand looks sounded compelling.

"Pleased that I am." Orion's reply shook Hermione of her fascination _-slightly_ \- so she managed to close her mouth and smile. "Shall we?"

Hermione nodded and stepped outside to close the door. Thankfully, Orion made place for her movement and didn't attempt Disapparation at an inappropriate proximity.

She hooked her arm to his and next, she experienced the similar pull of Disapparation.

* * *

Orion hadn't known their transportation would trouble the young witch- Hermione's vice grasp of his upper arm was explanation enough.

"Are you okay? I would have arranged a portkey if only you mentioned it," Orion stopped because Hermione let go of him to walk a few steps ahead.

Her gasp was satisfactory as she took in the sole dinner table that graced the spacious open terrace. It was the same old view of the Thames river and the the London Eye, as was the luxurious table, so Orion focused more on the witch and the sight she made while he haltingly followed her to their table.

Her disorientation and nausea had affected her first few steps, but now she seemed confident in her rather sharp high heels. From those black heels started her creamy legs that seemed to rise, rise and rise endlessly but Orion had to take the whole view lest he was caught staring. He _was_ staring- he had to use his limited time well.

The length of her skirt was just appropriate for a formal dinner while displaying those languid legs. And the black fabric curved around the back of her thighs so that Orion could follow the lines to _imagine_ her pert arse clearer.

Breathing out from his nose to calm down, Orion forced himself not stare at her bare shoulders where he was compelled to touch and kiss. It would be so easy to grab her by the waist and bury his head at the junction of her shoulder to neck.

He doubted the velvet fabric of her dress could be softer than her flesh. His hands would contently brush over the curve of her waist to confirm this.

"This," Hermione turned around. Orion welcomed her with a smile that had to convince her that he wasn't imagining the witch as the main course of their beautiful dinner. Or maybe, Orion would request the desert earlier and the chocolate lava cake would taste even more exquisite on her skin. "This view is amazing. Wow! Orion, I can't imagine what lengths it took for you to arrange-"

It was his hotel, for Merlin's sake. "It is a rather easy task when I happen to be the owner of the establishment. May I?"

Escorting her to sit down, he watched Hermione's fast reactions as she understood what he said.

"You didn't have to-" she started this time to which he quickly replied, "Nonsense."

The waiter came to take their orders. Orion gave three recommendations to the witch, and to catch the approval in her eyes as she ordered from those options was indeed satisfying. Even if the gesture was out of kindness that was commonly ingrained in Pureblood men, the most never abided it. Only few witches cared about the detail in the end. However, Orion's guest seemed to appreciate it.

The sun had set moments earlier so the grey but bright atmosphere lingered. _Not for long_ , Orion thought, watching the swift shift to darkness. Their candles were already alight- a design that had caught Miss Dagworth-Granger's- _Hermione'_ s attention. She stared intently at the votive candle to his left, her hands supporting her cheek, fingers intertwined.

She must have spaced out while Orion conversed with the waiter about wine options and finally ordered. Orion found it fascinating how deep in thought Hermione was! He could watch the faint light reflect on her face, its dance over her features that displayed the contours of her enticing lips and highlighted the depths of her brown eyes. He had not noticed that her long lashes naturally curled and were a shade of light blond.

Hermione Dagworth-Granger was a beauty Orion desperately wished to admire. But he craved for more! Not just silently observe her- why else would he really go out of his way to contact her?

"Tell me," Orion whispered, curious for the thoughts that passed in her mind. Thoughts that were heavy and worrying, if her ensuing sigh was any indication. "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing," the witch started to say which was an obvious lie. Orion grimaced at her attempt to brush away his question- he never tolerated being dismissed. Not by his workers, but definitely not by people he cared about.

"I must insist. It worries me to always meet you on such unfortunate days."

"Always? I don't remember-"

"The dinner we first met, for once. You were feeling upset back then, even before dinner when you visited me in my study," Orion clarified but realizing the stunned silence of Hermione, he decided not to broach the subject.

Great Salazar, how worse could he have confessed to having been watching her from the first time he laid eyes on her?

"The past week has been hard for me." Hermione's voice eased Orion. For a moment, he had feared that all was lost. "But today is different. Orion, do you remember that elementary school project I mentioned to you last time?"

Orion was gulping down his wine so it kept him from spilling out that he had their interaction memorized. More could have been achieved from that early lunch the two of them have had, Orion always recalled.

"You know, the school for the Muggleborns? Well, Abraxas encouraged me to gradually proceed with it. And before coming here, I was going through the Dagworth-Granger properties that could be appropriate for the project. It's just that, I don't know what to do."

Orion raised his brows at the hopeless laugh Hermione added to that last part. She took a big gulp of her wine following it.

"' _Don't know what to do'_? Godric, that doesn't sound like me. Again," the witch said. Another laugh. Orion didn't like the sound of it- Hermione was undeniably upset. "Well, it's not like I didn't research for solutions. There are wards. Blood wards -darker wards- lethal wards that kills any trespassers. Of course, I could request the Ministry to appoint Aurors, but then again, when has the Ministry ever been trustworthy?"

Orion distinctively felt Hermione was venting on her own, merely thinking aloud. It was time for him to interfere, "I don't understand. Is this still about the school? Why do you plan all that security?"

But as the words left his mouth, he realized. It was a painful smile on Hermione's face when the two came to an understanding.

Orion was unable to comment with the arrival of their first servings. He waited for the waiter to leave.

"Your concern is very true. The political climate of Britain is unpredictable, more so in the recent years. And looks to become worse in the near future. Well, I must admit your admirers only slight outnumber the ones who are skeptical of your goals."

That didn't uplift the young witch. Orion sighed. "That doesn't mean your project is inauspicious. You counted the possible solutions yourself. And as I remember, the reason you wanted the institution in the first place is to provide education to these children and prevent the consequential segregation that _rouses_ the political disagreement."

Hermione held his gaze for a long moment in which Orion could think nothing but the intensity in her eyes. She assessed his words, he knew. She must have believed in his persuasion.

"That's true." Hermione dropped her eyes. "But there is a _risk_ \- a risk I'm not willing to bring upon _children_. What if something happens? I can't… Orion, I _can't_ live with that _._ And I really don't know what to do. Maybe this isn't the right time?"

Orion watched as Hermione brushed her hair out of her face, anxious. She was sighing, avoiding his gaze and tapping her fingers. He hated seeing her like this.

"When is the right time?" Orion asked all of a sudden. That caught her attention. "How long will you wait? Sure, there are only five-six Muggleborns collected every year for Hogwarts, and maybe that's a small number for you, but how many of them will be waiting for you to open that school? Give them a chance? Apparently, nobody else will? If you don't do this, will the Ministry do it? Or _Abraxas Malfoy_?"

Hermione had started to nod. Maybe it was the dark sky and the candlelights playing tricks on Orion, but he thought she looked much prettier with that spark in her eyes. His words came across.

"Would _you_ do it?" Hermione countered, though. Shocking Orion and leaving him speechless. He had not thought that further into his encouragement- he had been merely giving the motivation nobody had provided him the first time he initiated the foundations of his hotel chain. Hermione continued, "I shared this idea with you. If I can't -or couldn't- can you do it?"

That was a question that implied much more than the words simply meant. It was meant to be a promise that bound people beyond the words. And it worried Orion that for a split second, he has been compelled to answer the affirmative.

Orion gulped, feeling his throat dry. Where was his bloody wine? If only it was the right time to drink it.

"That's irrelevant. You are more than capable," Orion decided on.

The smile that broke her face was unexpected. It was sad in a peaceful way. Content, even.

Hermione put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. "That reply is more than I gave you credit for."

Orion smirked, seeing the chance to divert the conversation. "I'm a man full of surprises."

"You indeed are!" Hermione exclaimed, laughing and perhaps truly happy for the first time this evening.

It was now dark above them.

Orion leaned forward on their table as well. "So this meeting I joined, was it this Tuesday? Not important- so my surprise to that one was…" and so on their dinner proceeded.

Hermione indulged in more wine and stories of her own. Orion listened to her, mesmerised by her smile, by the quirks of her brows, the occasional scratch of her nose. Also, her "I know!"s, which were abundant Orion had to admit.

It felt heavenly to spend time with her. So much that he was reluctant to end the night.

Somehow they had not mentioned Sirius. Orion felt the two had come to an agreement to avoid the topic- himself particularly because whenever he thought of mentioning his son, it gave the impression that their dinner would come to a close and dear Hermione would never attempt to contact with him again.

Yes, Orion wanted to consult Hermione of the last issue with his son, but he didn't want this dinner to be over as quickly. Moreover Orion doubted, in case he turned bitter over recalling Sirius' behaviour, he could a second time achieve their delightful synch of current.

He could owl Hermione for another time to talk about Sirius.

Orion wanted to prolong what they had now. Desperately. There were so many more things he desired, not just converse, watch and listen, but share, touch and revere. But he warred with himself to attempt anything. Was it greed? Was it ambitious? Too soon? Would it even be well-received?

Those thoughts crossed his mind as his lips lingered at the back of her hand. They were standing, saying farewells and about to part ways to Disapparate away.

He didn't want that. Since Monday, Orion has had time to think of many more ways this night could end, and it would be foolish to leave it as it was.

Lowering her hand, still in his, Orion stepped in her space. He was close. Hermione had to tilt her chin to look him the eye, stunned, her alluring mouth agape.

Was he really going to do this? He thought back to all the times he never acted on opportunities. Latest would be with his secretary. But Orion realised he had never found himself quite in a similar situation like this.

It was him who close the gap between them. It was him still holding her hand, entwining their fingers as moments passed. Him who raised his hand to _touch_ \- brushing away a strand of curly hair and resting his palm under her jaw, his thumb so close to her lips.

"May I kiss you?" Orion asked, his lips already brushing hers. Maybe he should have asked before that final step.

No matter, it satisfied him in equal measure as she nodded.

That, of course, didn't compare to the feel of her lips. Her lips were so soft and warm. What an incredible sensation it was! Orion never recalled kissing someone, not even Walburga during their coitus (perhaps when Regulus was conceived, but he had been too drunk to remember it).

_This_ was new. It was new to feel her lips part, her tongue moist his own lips and tongue reach for his. As their kiss turned wet and hot, Orion welcomed this new experience.

He let go of Hermione's hand to rest it on her waist. Pulling her closer, it surprised him to feel her free hand venture in the front of his robes to hold onto his shirt. It burned where she touched. He was getting heady because of their kiss already, but to have her hands, both of them, over his chest, few fingers grazing his skin from the open buttons of his shirt, was a feeling of alertness new to him.

Breathlessness separated their lips, but Orion trailed his lips over her skin still. He breathed back his own hot breath as close as he was to her, leaving quick kisses while he descended towards her neck. Inhaling her scent deep inside him and hearing sharp gasps from her sent a scorching wave along his body, especially reminding him his throbbing member burning against his robes.

"Orion, we-" she whispered in his ear which perked him up immediately. Neither did he back away nor had she removed her hands from his person. Orion affectionately brushed away her hair again (it wasn't exactly tame), then let his hand fall on her hip to join the other.

"Yes, Hermione?" he urged her to speak but that pretty swollen mouth he craved to capture again was reluctant. Her eyes had darkened in lust, though. A sight that enervated his anatomy. She could be convinced. "Tell me what you want."

Just to make sure his lovely Hermione gave him the desired answer his thumbs encouragingly caressed her hips.

Well, her silence was nerve-wracking but thankfully her hands climbed to his face. The motion didn't prepare Orion for when Hermione forced him down to meet his lips again.

He groaned at her enthusiasm, his hands travelling to her arse to pull her flush against him. Oh she felt so soft and wonderful against him! If only the layers of clothes did not separate them…

The thought of being more intimate with her made Orion realize they were not exactly stood in appropriate location for their plan. The terrace was mostly empty. The sole waiter could be dismissed in a heartbeat, but regardless of how tempting of a fantasy it was to have his way with the witch under stars, Orion probably should lead them to his suite for their first time.

Sadly, he backed away. His lips were tingling, but warmth of her lips had evaporated. Orion immediately covered her hand in his, not wanting for Hermione to understand his retraction as repulsion. On the contrary.

"Come," he said when he turned around to walk her inside. Because they were walking directly towards the waiter, Orion couldn't shift his manhood to relieve some stress, instead he simply covered the bulge with his robes. Words had been exchanged with the waiter for discretion prior to dinner, so Orion knew the young gent would keep his observations of tonight to himself.

The clang of high heels attracted Orion's attention back to Hermione. He could have Apparated them to his suite. And that would have given them opportunity to quickly satiate their lust. However, Orion had a major _concern_. Well, it has been over a decade since his last intimate night, and that stood to reason that Orion wouldn't last long if they acted fast.

Briskly, they made their way three floors down. The walking cleared his head and helped blood rush back to his head. Orion felt that he could breathe again without the risk of explosion, so that was a success.

So was closing his suite door after bringing inside the most delectable witch of Britain.

Shrugging his robes in the blink of an eye, Orion shed his cravat and vest before reaching his witch. She had been caught off guard by the grandness of the suite (his witch was an observer) so when Orion caught her from behind, her shriek made him laugh.

"Orion!" she called, laughing too. But her voice turned to moans the moment Orion's lips found their place at her neck. One of his hands ascended to cup her breast and then he felt Hermione's hips grind against his.

That undid help of their haste walk to his suite. As Orion accompanied the motion of her hips, pressing his cock against her wonderful arse, he knew it would take only a couple of repeats of fraction for him to cum in his pants. He wasn't inside of her yet, Great Salazar!

Orion tried to distract himself as absurd as that sounded, but if he didn't somehow delay his eagerness, the witch would be left unattended. One thing Orion learned well from Walburga was that an unattended witch in any sense, forget the circumstances, would be a regretful action of him in the end.

However, Orion's efforts of prolonging his erection flew out the window when he heard the zipper of Hermione's dress go down. The witch wiggled in his grasp, but as she slipped out of the dress, his hands found her silky warm skin to hold on.

Orion didn't know when Hermione decided clothes were hindrance, but it was clear when she turned around to strip of his remaining shirt as well.

She kissed his exposed flesh, and her curious hands in addition to her moist lips over his chest sent another wave directly to his cock. Merlin, her fingers even played with the hair under his navel! That brought a whole different anticipation.

"Yes, witch," he hissed when one of her kisses came quite close to his nipple. Licking it, Hermione then nibbled his hardened nipple. That, he wanted to reciprocate. Orion would much rather if he were to attend her breasts.

Catching the witch in a languid kiss, Orion worked to unclasp her bra. When it came off, her breasts squashed between the two of them and Orion was surprised how much softer they felt against him. Hungrily, Orion covered one globe in his hand and squeezed, testing whether he could _feel_ their softness.

Oh they were delectable! Softer, smoother and fuller than any feather pillow.

Orion's newfound interest, however, was cut short when Hermione reached to caress his cock over his pants. The reminder of how his pants were already damp of precum forced Orion to make a fast decision.

It was either impale the witch and work her with a few thrusts that would most certainly be inadequate for any woman to reach ecstasy (as Evan loved to mention in the passing by), or Orion could continue to explore Hermione's wanton body, make it sing for him, then enter her hopefully in their second round.

There had to be a potion in the bathroom in case he had difficulties for the second rise-up- a gift from Evan for Orion's fortieth birthday.

All the thoughts and his dilemma vanished the moment Orion registered Hermione had eagerly worked his buckle and fly. Next her hand around his gird was a whole new sensation of pressure, coolness and arousal.

His pants pooled around his ankles. Stepping out of them, Orion walked Hermione backwards to bed, already decided on how best to use his hard weapon.

Upon lying over the bed, Orion broke the kiss to travel down to her breast. While he sucked one, he fondled the other. Aside from the acceleration of his heartbeat, euphoria of all the additional sensations and overall bliss of their excursion, Orion hardly registered the differences between all that was happening.

Sucking onto her breast ought to feel different than feeling her wet clit sliding up and down his cock as they grinded against each other, but the stark difference was lost on Orion when he felt the familiar squeeze of his balls. _Not yet..._

"Fuck, yes, that's-" Regardless, that was the complete definition of satiated elation. "Merlin!"

With a grunt muffled against the dip of her collarbone, Orion came uncontrollably and unexpectedly. Latter was true for Hermione too.

Glancing down between their proximate bodies, Orion saw how his cum spilled over her abdomen and next their contact increased the warm and sticky feel.

"You came?" Hermione's breathy voice collected his eyes back to her. Orion dipped down to get a slow and deliberate kiss. With how she clung to him, Orion was aware Hermione was confused with how her desire was not met.

Dismissing his content over his orgasm and the sudden lax of his muscles, Orion got to kiss, nibble and lick at her skin. He ought to please his witch.

"I came for you, Hermione," he whispered against her skin. Reaching back to her lips, he planted a long, firm kiss. "So beautiful," he kissed, "so sensuous," another kiss, "and so very delectable you are."

Licking her lips for her to open up to him, Orion later tangled his tongue with hers. As their kiss elicited a moan form the young witch, his hand traveled between their bodies. First, smearing his cum affectionately over her meaty stomach, he proceeded to mix their fluid once he reached her sex.

Entering her with two fingers, his thumb rubbing at her clitoris, immediately drew the loudest response from the witch.

Orion swallowed her cry with a kiss and enjoyed her following moans as he felt her hips thrust against his hand. The faster he pumped his fingers and rubbed her, the more Hermione tried to get him closer.

It was maddening to feel her fingers sharply tug his hair, her available hand reach his back and her heel dipping to his arse where she had hook her leg over his hips for a better access.

At his younger days, Orion could have risen up already at Hermione's responsiveness and be fucking her with his rock-hard cock instead of his fingers.

"Yes, Orion! That's- Oh, Godric!" As Orion found a sweet spot under her jaw to suck at her flesh, he exhilaratingly listened to Hermione's cries of appreciation. Soon, his witch was cuming with moans and gasps at her lips, repeating his name.

Orion felt Hermione go slack underneath him and he retracted his fingers. Kissing the spot he has sucked better off half a minute now, licking to cool it off too, Orion rose to meet with Hermione's half-lidded eyes.

His fingers were wet with both their fluids now and Orion was compelled to offer a taste to Hermione. Touching her lips, Orion watched in fascination as Hermione accepted his fingers and licked them. Her eyes closed completely as she sucked, her own hand coming to cover his own that he had offered at her.

"Look at me," Orion ordered. He wanted to see her look at him. It was him who finger-fucked her into bliss. All of those kisses, caresses and attentions were his. He wanted to see in her eyes that she loved every second of it.

Her eyes opened, alert and curious, and they stared into each others' eyes until Orion was distracted by the sound of her sucking at his fingers. His eyes dropped to her pretty mouth enveloping his long digits, and at that moment Hermione chose to open her mouth wide, purposefully showing him how she licked him off, and then kissed his fingers.

Well, after that sight Orion did not hesitate at capturing her lips.

Tired of lying propped up at his elbow, Orion fell back on his side without breaking their kiss. At this new position, his back and legs were thankful for relief which made him realize how very exhausted he actually was. He was not a young lad anymore.

As mirroring his thoughts on the heavy exercise they had, Hermione sighed to his lips. Orion couldn't help but smile, ending the kiss, but he outright laughed when Hermione took that as an opportunity to yawn.

"Young lady, it ought to be me who yawns," Orion chided lovingly. Hermione giggled at him.

Pecking him, she then buried her head under his chin. "In my defence, it _was_ a tiring day."

Still smiling, Orion accepted Hermione's embrace. It was a wonder how Hermione planned to sleep like this. Her breathing came deep and slow so Orion was confident that sleep was indeed her intention.

Silence reigned after that. Orion wished to disclose so many more pieces of his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to open his mouth. First was that he was also tired, so following Hermione to sleep was a wise choice. And second, it was because he was fearful to disrupt this wonderful moment. Merlin knew how much longer he could have Hermione in his arms!

If Orion had his way, it would be forever.

 


	18. Chapter 18

She felt trapped. Why couldn't she move, shout, do something? Anything? Her heart pounded fiercely against her chest, but Hermione couldn't focus on what was going on.

There was a voice. What was being said? Her name?

Hermione startled awake, disoriented for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She breathed in and out, slower than she had been exhaling a moment ago so that her heartbeat quieted down. She realized that the blanket twisted around her legs and torso. There was a soft mattress underneath her and a pillow that was drenched with sweat.

She was home, in her bed. Awoken perhaps by a nightmare, she didn't know. She didn't remember whatever that she dreamt causing her this distress.

"Hermione?" Seeing the form now that hovered over her, Hermione gasped. "Hey, it's me. I'm sorry to wake you up. You seemed…"

Hermione relaxed for noticing Orion. Yesterday came quickly to Hermione and she sighed that there was nothing wrong. She wasn't home like she had initially imagined, but she was fine. She wasn't being chased down by Death Eaters; there was no Horcrux Harry or Horcrux Ron either. It must have been one of her nightmares from the past week; it was not the reality.

Hermione was still tired and fuzzy though, having woken up in the middle of the night.

She felt a hand cup her cheek and Hermione glanced back at Orion. "Are you alright? I had to leave for an urgent call, I didn't mean to wake you up."

Hermione leaned into his touch. It was comforting. "It's okay," she said.

Orion shed the robes he had worn upon having been called, Hermione noted, and then he climbed back to bed. Hermione rolled over to give him space, but his arm prevented her from getting to the middle of the bed even.

Hermione felt a soft kiss on her hair that eased her the most. Only then she happily accepted the warmth surrounding her, the feeling of safety in Orion's arms and the comfort of the sound of his beating heart.

Nuzzling his neck, Hermione relished the feeling of her lips on his skin and his dusky smell of warmth and something distinctly male. Orion's deliberate caresses over her sides and back repeated to her that she was safe.

"Hey," he whispered. Slightly rising alert at his voice, the faint brush of their noses reminded Hermione of other ways he could comfort her.

Hermione leaned in to kiss him. Would they have conversed about her nightmare had she not kissed Orion, Hermione didn't know. But she knew the feel of his lips. She relished the taste of his mouth. She enjoyed hearing their joined sighs.

His hands travelled down her skin, drawing circles over her hip. He shifted, urging her to lie back while he showered her with kisses. He was hot and attentive, sensitizing and scorching every inch he touched. This was a stark contrast to their urgency from earlier as well as any intimacy she has had so far.

They took their time. Each kiss like a new way to get to know one another. Thinking like that Hermione couldn't help but smile. Orion smirked but both were forgotten when he persisted kissing. His tongue eager and exploring, Hermione's gasps and occasional sighs were greeted by his groans. It helped that Orion lowered himself so that no inch of their skin missed the touch of the other.

His hips grinded against hers; and already positioned quite snugly between her legs, Orion did not need to go amazing lengths to make Hermione a needy and craving mess. His hard cock burned her sex at every movement that it slid up and down her folds, exhilarating her of what was to come.

Remembering the last time, Hermione couldn't help but stop at her thoughts. She tried her best to sound soft and understanding, "Hey."

Maybe she shouldn't ask...

Orion kissed the side of her lips when she spoke. Taking that as a cue to continue, Hermione tried again. The fact that he rolled his hips didn't help preserve her tact. "Mmmhmm Godric, yes…" Why was he distracting her? "But uuh, Orion, are you up for it? I mean… last time...?"

She felt him halt at her words. Consequently, she cursed ever thinking about it. _Overthinking_ about it. "Sorry, I-"

"Hermione." Suddenly all Hermione could think about was the presence of his cock -still rock hard, thank Merlin-, and with every heartbeat, she was expecting for it to soften. Anger meant to arouse occasionally, but she doubted it would apply now. Oh, Godric- she and her big mouth!

Her inner dilemma was set aside however when Orion captured her lips and attacked her mouth. He was fast and demanding. Hermione had to swallow her moans to keep up with him.

She would have tried to break free to talk for a moment, but his fingers dipped into her cunt and Hermione found herself pushing against him, losing all reason.

The hardness of the bedpost met her head as Orion's constant kisses rode her up the mattress. Half-sitting, she accepted him into her embrace. Oh, how she loved having him in her arms! He was everywhere; so hot, so real and so _filling_.

"OH!" Hermione shrieked when Orion plunged into her. He kissed her neck, hands fleetingly on her breasts, as his hips pistoned in and out.

His intrusion deliciously stretched her walls, reminding her what it felt like to have a man inside of her, and his hard thrusts stimulated her repeatedly.

"You like that?" he checked, in an angry hiss. Hermione registered in the back of her mind that she had indeed pissed him off, but to the question he asked Hermione mindlessly nodded. His cock felt _wonderful._

Orion removed his hands, balancing himself against the bedpost with one, and grabbing her hip with the other. Then he forced harder thrusts to which Hermione cried in pleasurable pain. He hit unbelievable spots in her that she couldn't believe had been left unattended. What had she been doing the past months without this?

"Yes, Orion! Yes!" Maybe her back would ache later on, but now, she anticipated the sweet tension inside of her to climb, climb, and climb to reach the threshold for uncoiling. "Please!"

"Fuck," he muttered as his groans followed her panting. The smell of hot and sex burned the little air she inhaled.

All of a sudden, Hermione was pulled, and once again her back was fully dipped in the soft mattress. But this time, Orion pulled her legs over his shoulders and positioned himself in front of her cunt.

At this position, as if possible, Orion reached further inside of her. "This- it's better! Yes, I love it! I love your cock, Orion! Yes, fuck me! I said fuck me! Harder! Please- harder!"

"I will!" Orion shouted. His grunts paced his mantra, but Hermione dutifully heard him out. "I'll fuck you until...you- you learn. And you will, Hermione! ….You'll learn….- yes, witch- you'll learn that _only I_ will... fuck ….your sweet cunt. And I'll fuck you... into bliss, you hear me?"

Hermione encouraged him because all she wanted at that moment was to orgasm. Orgasm to his intense fucking, his dirty talk, all his attention.

"Yes, Orion!" she shrieked and finally snapped. As relief of her orgasm washed over her, she listened to Orion's last grunt as he followed her into bliss. Feeling his hot cum fill her, Hermione moaned as the sensation made her toes curl.

Breathing heavily still, Orion lowered her legs and slipped out of her himself, now properly soft. Dropping down next to her, Orion smirked when it took Hermione a few moments to collect herself to turn to him.

She winced at the beginnings of the ache between her legs but rolled over to him to rest her chin at his chest.

Spreading the thin sheath of sweat on his skin, she played with the black-grey curls over his chest. It was fun. To see his lazy smile was even sweeter. "I'm not sorry I asked whether you had gone soft."

To that, Orion laughed. "You got your answer, witch?"

Kissing him, Hermione giggled. "I _am_ satisfied."

* * *

Hermione smiled in her sleep when she felt the pull that fixed her in strong arms. She was somehow aware that it was morning, and sun bathed her -especially her closed eyes- in its shine, but she evened her breathing and continued to sleep.

Then, her skin was alerted by a tender touch over her hip, that travelled front and dipped down…

Hermione gasped when a hand grasped her cunt. It went further with dipping a finger inside.

"Good morning," came a rusty voice against her ear. And next, her earlobe was being nibbled on, and Hermione vividly recalled how last night was spent.

"Good mor- _Orion!_ " she shrieked when Orion got leverage from his hand on her cunt to pull her arse to his cock. He was there alright: Big, hot and up for attention.

"We should continue where we left off," he muttered, his lips on her shoulder.

Hermione slightly turned to playfully tell him off, but he took that opportunity to catch her lips.

Even the feel of his lips on her own would have left her moaning, but Hermione couldn't stay quiet when his fingers wiggled in her cunt.

"So enthusiastic," he smirked.

Hermione reached to his head to lower him back to her lips again. Playing with his hair, she smiled, "Says the man with his cock ready since dawn."

To that, he twitched his fingers inside of her. "Says the witch dripping wet in the bed since last night."

"Oh, shut up." Hermione silenced him with a kiss. Both of their smiles only disappearing when their lips met.

Well, she shouldn't have been surprised when Orion lifted her left leg to thrust himself inside.

Hermione gasped all the same. The break from the kiss was not yearned for as the two of them concentrated on their union. It was something else to wake up to nice uplifting sex, and Hermione had been missing out on that for some time.

"You are so tight, Hermione," Orion whispered to her ear. "So fucking tight. And so hot."

His observation was much more accurate because this time they were taking time to feel every movement. His entrance and exit were slow and deliberate, making her notice how her walls clenched each time to make him stay when he moved out.

Orion's breaths came shorter rather quickly though, and the haste of his hips only indicated that he would be coming close.

Making sure it wouldn't disrupt their position, Hermione guided Orion's hand back to her sex. Taking the cue to play with her clit, Orion also got to kissing and nibbling by her neck. She swore she would have extra love bites over there.

Soon, Orion came and thankfully Hermione followed him.

Sighing with a smile, Hermione added, "That was…"

Removing his cock from inside of her, Orion sat up in the bed. His motion made her words die out.

With sun displaying him clearly, Hermione noticed the hard lines to his face and the white to his hair, both on his head and chest. He was fit and handsome. Not all the reasons Hermione shagged him in the first place, but they were good contributors.

Orion hesitated from getting off the bed, and when he dipped to get a kiss, Hermione smiled to the reason to his hesitation. "I need to go to work, so better take a shower."

Hermione would have suggested to join him, but they had already had their morning fun.

"Alright, I'll just dress…" Hermione didn't know what else to say. Truthfully last night, she had not thought further than getting some amazing sex.

Looking back at Orion Black, a list of why the two of them could not see each other piled up in her head: He was old. _Older._ He was married. He had two sons. He had supported the Death Eaters. He would die. Merlin, he was _married_.

What had she done?

Thinking back to her reasoning to ever interact with Orion Black in the first place, Hermione realized she had not asked about Sirius and his well-being. Or Regulus, for that matter.

Trying to dismiss her pounding head, Hermione reasoned that Orion wouldn't expect anything more from her. Unlike Evan Rosier, Orion's marriage and children would stand in the way of any relationship. Hermione had to admit, either of the males wouldn't have thought of _any_ kind of relationship if they had known her to be a Muggleborn.

Hermione decided it would be better to root herself to reality and focus on the fact that she had to save her loved ones and the Wizarding World, the rest was not a priority.

Her happiness and love, and the off chance of finding those in the male specimen who confidently walked around to her side of the bed would -or _should_ \- be overlooked. For the greater good.

"Hermione," Orion leaned down to take a lingering kiss to which Hermione replied only faintly due to the turmoil inside her head. She had not decided what to do, but Orion talked over her restless thoughts: "I'll arrange a weekend off for the two of us. Somewhere abroad. My hotel in Italy, most likely. I'll owl you the details."

Without giving Hermione a chance to reply, he headed for the shower. Hermione got dressed as well. She had to go. Talk to Abraxas. Make some plans.

Shite! She has been wasting time.

* * *

"My father sends his best regards," Lucius drawled and then Hermione watched him toss two files and a paper bag on the side table. He proceeded to sit across her, to which Hermione only raised her eyebrows.

It hadn't been an hour since she rushed to the Malfoy Manor. Abraxas had been absent, but she had been waiting in hopes that he would drop by any second.

Lucius was enough of a replacement.

"You should mix that," Lucius added when she didn't respond. He indicated the paper bag. "With a glass of water and drink it before noon. Surely, you don't want to bare Half-bloods to a married man."

Hermione's hand halted in mid-air to grab the bag as the two stared at each other. Shame coloured her cheeks but she couldn't look away. The bag was some kind of a contraceptive potion, then.

She took it and mixed it with water and drank. They didn't converse even fifteen minutes after she dealt with one of her many problems.

This situation was...awkward.

Lucius Malfoy, four years younger than her, cautioned her about pregnancy. She was a bloody Healer, too.

"Great," Hermione muttered, taking her head in her hands. "This is just perfect."

"It is, in fact." Lucius' agreement only elicited a groan from her. What the hell was he getting at?

"Meaning?" Hermione asked, finding this trait similar in the father and son.

"Well, drawing the Blacks to our cause is definitely promising. My dear Narcissa would be less conflicted if her family saw reason and sided with us."

To that Hermione snorted. Blacks and reason were not to be used in the same sentence. Wasn't Narcissa Orion's niece, anyway? How would it directly make her family switch sides?

Seeing her questioning look perhaps, Lucius spoke: "Orion Black is the Head of the Blacks. What he acts on, is what the Blacks must obey. Unlike the Malfoys, the Black family has many branches. So it is, in fact, the most favourable to… _persuade_ the Head of the Noble House of Black. And I believe that's exactly what you are doing."

Oh, fuck this little piece of shit! Was he insinuating she was spreading her legs to Orion to- to-

"One more word, Malfoy, and I'll swear there will never be any _branching_ of the Malfoy family line- if Narcissa is already pregnant that is. Then, I'm afraid, the line might end with you."

"Oh, how you show your own hypocrisy! Is it not honourable to be honest? That's what I'm doing now. Being courageously truthful? I thought you were a Gryffindor; I thought you valued that."

"Shut it," Hermione chided the younger Slytherin. Why was he here anyway? _He_ had a bride to get pregnant. "Why did you come? I was waiting for Abraxas-"

Lucius leaned over and tapped his fingers on the two files he had placed earlier. "The Dark Lo- _Riddle_ has decided to leave the shadows and we suspect he _knows_."

Hermione's head cleared at Lucius' revelation. Looking from the files back at his serious gaze, she abruptly took the files. She skimmed them: They belonged to Antonin Dolohov and Igor Karkaroff.

"Russians. Both notorious for their mastery in Dark Arts. Father says they have been set on a new mission. Since we are not found dead in our beds yet, Father speculates that Riddle has _felt_ something is amiss but commissioned for the two Russian wizards to look into it. So he doesn't exactly know we killed his soul, but he knows something is not right. He will get on the offensive. Soon."

Hermione gulped, one thing she did not want to do yet was to face with Dolohov.

_One at a time,_ Hermione thought, and first decided to freak out about this weekend's getaway with Orion.

* * *

"Remus, listen to this: _Last night a commotion in a Muggle neighbourhood alerted the Ministry. Aurors dispatched at the crime scene found magical residue next to the two dead bodies. Mr and Mrs Collins, Muggles aged 34 and 32, were killed, although no connections to the magical society were ever found. Sources report that after the arrival of the Aurors, a spell was cast over the house the couple was killed. The green smoke, getting a shape of a skull and snake, marked the crime scene for hours, making it difficult for Aurors to contain the Muggle law enforcement force._ "

"Wow. Did they manage to make every Muggle forget about that?" Peter asked, eyeing the moving photo of the spell, that green smoke that was mentioned, above a three-story house.

"That doesn't sound like the Scarlet Witch," Remus muttered. "It's the only serial killer on the loose, and I never heard the targets were Muggles."

"This is ridiculous," James spat in the end, folding the Daily Prophet and tucking it back into his satchel. "Not the best way to start a Monday, anyway. I was looking for the new potion pops was going to launch, he sent me a letter the other day. Mum's excited for him too."

"Wouldn't have helped your hair, dear James," chimed Sirius to which James threw an olive at him.

"Look who's talking. When was the last time you bathed, anyway?" James was appalled about Sirius' lack of hygiene for the past few days.

Sirius had visited home on Friday upon the letter his mother had sent to Professor Dumbledore. James knew he had come back Saturday evening, he had slept all day on Sunday, and counting that and till today, that made four days without James seeing Sirius join their common bathroom.

James adored his friend but he didn't know what he would do with him if the fellow Gryffindor had the stupid idea to compete for his greasy hair against Severus Snape's.

"I showered. Two days ago, it should be," puffed out Sirius, which was an _obvious_ lie. "Did the charms homework yesterday, can't do both without getting the parchment wet, Jamie."

James chuckled at Sirius' eye roll, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was not right. He dismissed it as a moment later, they found themselves rushing to the Potions lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I know it's been a long time but hope it was worth the wait! For this chapter, I got help from AntshaLora who has helped me polish the chapter to its best. Everything is much better in detail, and I have her to thank for that! She is amazing, helpful and encouraging. I'm actually glad you, as the reader, will never read the first version to ever compare them in the first place xD
> 
> On the side note, this story is getting out of hand. Not plot-wise, but it definitely is the longest I've been writing. And my outline looks to reach 27 chapters? Heads up for that.
> 
> Hope you'll be around :)))
> 
> -Ydream08


	19. Chapter 19

There were very few instances which Orion would show his surprise. Even when his dear niece Andromeda eloped with that Muggle, his face had not betrayed Orion's mild shock. For one, the girl has had a rebellious streak ever since her childhood- it was no wonder she would act on her own will. And, of course, her younger sister Bella had been one of the many resources that whispered Andromeda's scandalous relationship beforehand.

No matter, Orion was a composed person by nature. He rarely smiled, and unfortunate for his employees, he would most often be found scowling if not just stoic.

When he visited Grimmauld Place to grab a few documents from his study room, however, Orion was indeed surprised to find Sirius present in the house. It was Tuesday, definitely a school day, and Orion never remembered any instance where his son could visit the house without permission from the school.

Finding Sirius, his head hanging in his hands and legs swinging where he sat, Orion stood with his mouth agape.

"Son, what are you doing here?"

Sirius jumped at his voice but even more surprisingly his son seemed relieved to see Orion, rather than caught escaping from the school. _Curious,_ Orion thought.

"Father, I-"

When Sirius opened his mouth for an excuse, Orion noticed once again how Sirius didn't look elsewhere whilst at the act of lying. That was a different trait than his younger son, Regulus. Regulus generally fell silent or changed the subject while averting his gaze, but Sirius always played with his hands, still talking and maintaining eye contact while trying to find a passable lie.

Orion didn't take pride in differentiating this particular trait of his sons as this meant they rarely told him the truth.

Orion scowled once again, merely at the thought of Sirius lying to him _and_ the reminder of his rude replies last week in the owl.

"That's unimportant," Orion opted for a different angle, cutting his son mid-word. "Maybe we should talk, my previous questions were left unanswered as you might remember."

Orion watched Sirius gulp at that. That meant the boy knew he was guilty. Good.

But he still didn't avert his gaze which only meant his guilt wasn't over what had transpired. He was guilty that he was caught. _This one is stubborn._

Just as Orion was meaning to drag along Sirius to his study room, he was interrupted by Walburga swiftly walking in.

She faltered at her steps, and stopped, eyebrows high up to show her surprise. Has his dear wife missed him? Bloody unlikely.

Orion had to admit, it has only been a week of absence on his part. He has been away much longer.

"Orion," she squawed. Glancing between him and Sirius, Orion couldn't help but think his wife looked like she was caught red-handed. "I thought you were busy this week," Walburga suddenly narrowed her eyes and got herself under control, showing the annoying bitch he always knew. "Especially this weekend. Didn't you have _special_ meetings?"

Orion quirked his eyes but opted to play naive, his weekend wasn't the topic of discussion here. "I had. And you are right, I was busy. Actually, I came here to check my study room. I can't find a few documents, but I saw Si-"

"Which ones?" Walburga interfered, alarmed for a heartbeat. "I might be of help, then you can leave me and Sirius to sort out-"

"Sort what?" Orion cut in. The two never listened to each other, that had not been different when they had been newlyweds. "I doubt it is urgent. Hogwarts hasn't notified me that anything was amiss. Tell me, Walburga, why is Sirius here?"

Orion couldn't have mistaken the sharp gasp from Sirius, but he didn't check with him. Orion was solely concentrated on his wife's odd behaviour.

There was a tense silence for a moment, in which Orion repeatedly thought he couldn't hate a person more than Walburga. She felt wrong. Everything about her. The

hardened lines of her face, the ugly tilt of her head upwards, and the horrible scrunch of her nose.

After Hermione, nothing could ever feel right again...not when she wasn't around.

Walburga cackled and dismissed Orion's inquiry. "Oh, darling, Sirius is here to get his portrait done! My old friend, Laurine, has just arrived to London. I commissioned her to draw my two lovely boys."

Orion nearly gaped at his wife. Unbelieve, this woman was!

"And this was more important than his studies?" Orion pressed. For one, he was sure Hermione would have flipped the same way if not more if she heard something like this. Orion was aware his love prepared homeworks, planning guides and special notes for both his boy and the Potter's one; Hermione Dagworth-Granger valued academics immensely.

"Laurine will be here for only two days, Orion! What was I supposed to do, miss this chance? Now, come, Sirius, we should get going."

Sirius didn't rise from his chair which was obviously noted by Walburga.

"Sirius, _now_ ," she hissed.

Orion watched as his son stared back at Walburga defiantly yet a bit… scared? Well, the way the woman's nostrils were aflame and her appalling face was contorted in anger, Orion would have been scared to look at Walburga too.

He walked to Sirius and grabbed his shoulder, not letting him get up. "Walburga, you should go ahead with Regulus." The moment Orion spoke, he realised that his younger son was no longer in the house. He should be back at Hogwarts as well, being a first year and all. What has Walburga done, excused Regulus too?

Not seeing his younger son anywhere, Orion dismissed the detail as it was the last evidence of his dear wife's scheme.

Orion continued, "Sirius and I will spend the evening together, and I'll drop him at Hogwarts myself. Send Laurine my best regards."

Walburga glanced between him and his son, seething in anger. She snapped, "What am I supposed to say to Laurine?"

Orion pointedly stared at her. Whenever Orion cared enough to notice it, as he did now, he always saw through his wife's lies. Orion would later talk in private what the issue here was.

Walburga silenced and sighed. "Very well. I'll deal with the shame, as always."

Orion didn't mind Walburga's venomous words, instead, he and Sirius listened to the clank of her heels as she disappeared out of sight.

"Thank you," Sirius whispered when they were truly alone.

Orion smiled, now glancing at Sirius. "Don't mention it. I will definitely be a better company, don't you say?"

Sirius grinned back at him, but Orion took notice of his glassy eyes. Sirius soon wiped away his face. Orion patted his back but looked away.

Walking ahead, Orion soon heard Sirius' soft footsteps following him. He entered his study and gestured for Sirius to sit as he sorted through his desk.

What Orion had come to look for had to be somewhere around here...

There had to be a copy of his father Arcturus' will here somewhere. As if it were a joke, the Goblins have lost the original will that was supposed to be in the Black Vaults, as Orion was notified. Orion had applied to get a copy from the Ministry archives just in case, but that official one belonging to the Ministry was lacking in the true division of their assets.

After a few minutes of shuffling through the files, Orion finally found it. He made a second copy and packed one of them into his bag.

"Yes, son, now I'm all ears," Orion announced when his bag was closed with a clink.

"Errmm… I doubt you want to hear how I and my friends figured out the kitchens in Hogwarts?"

Orion smirked. "Tickle the pear?"

"You know?" Sirius gaped.

"Of course. You forget that I was a student once. And Slytherins and Hufflepuffs are close mates, at least they used to be at my year. My friend, Diggory, had disclosed the secret of the pear. I still owe him one for that actually."

Sirius whistled. "Wow, that's- I can't believe it! Diggory from the Wilbourne Wasps? _Benson Diggory?_ He is an amazing Chaser!"

"I never mentioned him to you, right? Benson Diggory used to be my Potions partner, both in the sixth and seventh year. We learned to fly together as well. He was ruthless when it came to Quidditch, something I never shared with him. I can't believe he continues the sport at this age, but potions must be of some help."

Orion watched for the first time how Sirius' eyes sparkled with excitement when he went on to relay this season's scores. Orion never knew how immersed Sirius was with the sport. Sure, every lad in his age was into Quidditch, but Sirius was quick with arithmancy, memorising the trademark tactics of teams as well as the player transfers.

Orion didn't lack knowledge of the current season either, so the two Black males conversed Quidditch for half an hour.

"James swears we could make it to a professional team after graduation, Father. We are the best ones in the Gryffindor team, we didn't lose a single match last year! And if we keep it up, by the seventh year, surely we might have a chance!"

Orion snorted. He couldn't fault his son for having wild dreams. Back at school, he had dreamt of opening a publisher. Unlike how Sirius was the direct heir, Orion had been third-in-line for the House of Black. And with that very advantage of being out of sight, Orion was able to live his solitary life for ten years until it was decided that his cousin Cygnus would not produce sons.

_Ten perfect_ years in which Orion accomplished his dreams: both establishing the publisher and Melania hotels.

"Son, don't forget you will be Head of House after me." Orion had to say this to his son. "You should be more realistic, shouldn't you?"

At that Sirius' shoulders fell.

"Oh, don't mope. Maybe you wouldn't be dreaming of becoming a professional Quidditch player if your grades were a bit better? Tell me, how are the lessons?"

Sirius made a face and averted his eyes now, spitting out a "Fine."

A moment passed when Orion waited for his son to elaborate. "Sirius, you know I don't like this kind of behaviour?"

"What behaviour?" Sirius snapped but a look from Orion put him to his place— or so Orion thought. "I'm not sorry. You always care about _family_ , but that's not us, is it? 'What would Uncle Cygnus say? Or Grandfather?' Grandfather is mad, literally, he doesn't even know who we are but you still care about his opinion! Also, I shouldn't forget how I am _always_ wrong but Mother is _always_ right. That's unfair!"

"SIRIUS."

His son didn't immediately calm down, but Orion gave them both a moment to think.

What was with his son? Hermione viewed this tyke as an angel, but whenever Orion talked with him, Sirius was more like a mismatched wand, the slightest move causing it to shoot shattering spells.

"All I want from you, Sirius, is for you to be respectful. To me, your mother, our family. You have to know how to speak, _when_ to speak, because, son, well-manners and poise in our society are exactly what matter when it comes to being presentable and respected."

Sirius made a frown, so Orion continued. "We, as a family, are among the few that can be counted among the well-off purebloods with an ancient and noble history. We had many members who governed, led and changed the course of wizarding history. We didn't become this wealthy over nothing, Sirius. And the least that is expected of you is to act deserving of our reputation. _The very least,_ son."

Orion sighed when Sirius didn't seem to relent to this reasoning.

"You won't get what you want with your way, Sirius. High society has its own rules, play by them, _play around them_ , and you'll do as you wish. I know you can do it because you are my son, Slytherin or not."

"I _choose_ not to," Sirius confessed to which Orion smiled. "I can't stand it! I can't stand Mother."

"Sirius," Orion warned because he sensed it would continue. "I'm confident I made myself clear," Orion summarized.

He didn't want this dispute to stretch. Sirius could hate Walburga, Orion didn't care much. His own mother hadn't been a saint, though Orion indeed had loved her, but Walburga has never been close to a mother figure.

Sensing that asking why Sirius was not at Hogwarts now would present even a more unpleasant conversation that involved Walburga, Orion prefered a lighter topic.

He could ask that Sirius before sending him away, and coupled with the private conversation he would have with Walburga, Orion would eventually be involved in this odd happenstance.

"Now, I was meaning to ask you how your lessons were? Did staying with Hermione this summer help?"

"Yes, my homeworks impressed the teachers," Sirius started, a sudden joyous air repelling his previous mood. It was unbelievable, the mood swings his boy was capable. "And I'm not joking; McGonagall was going to drop dead when she heard I finished the homeworks. Hermione sends a few reminders to what to study this year too, so I bet I will continue shocking everyone. Me and James ask Remus when we're stuck, though. Remus is the most hard-working of us all. It helps."

Orion nodded, pleased. "That sounds great."

"Yes, it is… And Father? About Hermione, I… well, she…" Sirius struggled. "Do you know if she's alright? She hasn't returned to my owl since last friday."

Orion coughed, not expecting Sirius to ask the whereabouts of the young witch. Naturally, he couldn't disclose their lovely weekend. It had been hard to part ways on Sunday. One would wish Orion's daft business partners didn't demand emergent meetings.

"She's fine, as far as I know, that is. Why do you think I would know, in the first place?" Orion was curious, he doubted his son had caught on to their... _relationship._

Oh, Salazar. That was a topic that brought headaches, indeed. Whatever that was happening between him and Hermione, Orion genuinely wished it to be a courtship. It was a fact that _that_ could never happen, though.

Orion Black was simply an unlucky _married_ man.

His son blushed, now that Orion noticed, unable to answer his inquiry.

"Well, nothing. I just-" Sirius stared at Orion, unwaveringly. His blush spread to his neck. "I thought, you might have seen her at a Ministry event, or something."

_A good lie_ , Orion thought but didn't press. "Son, why don't we head out to the hotel? You can tag along to some of my meetings, then we can grab a dinner. I'll send you off to school afterwards."

* * *

Neither Walburga nor Sirius ended up explaining to Orion what was really happening. It was again the portrait commission bullshite. Orion just knew this was yet another lie he was being told, but for the first time, he cared that he was being taken as a fool. The feeling didn't leave, either.

He would find out about this.

* * *

Their portkey to Milan for this Friday was already arranged but Orion didn't want to wait three more days to see Hermione. Waking up to a hard-on because his dreams were filled with her lovely lips, soft skin and tight cunt was a new kind of sweet torture.

Pocketing their portkey, Orion rose from his seat to find Muriel. She was his new secretary, an old witch of lean stature, a grim line for a mouth and pinched expression as she evaluated numbers. The grey of her hair and outdated robes which she always wore the same pair, easily gave away her age. Orion sometimes thought the woman had seen Grindelwald's rebellion, but he refrained from asking.

Orion switched Anastasia to the main front desk from being his assistant simply because he no longer tolerated her flirting. He had always overlooked such advances but with his relationship with Hermione, Orion didn't prefer risking his love's trust over nothing. Of course, Hermione has never met Anastasia, but it wasn't sensible to keep the young woman for a secretary as the mine she was. Better play it safe, his Slytherin side advised so he obliged.

"Muriel, vacate my afternoon please. I will head out," Orion informed Muriel once he found him at her desk outside his office.

The old witch stared at his face for a moment longer before confirming his wish, which only meant there were some tricky clients on the line, but she briskly nodded.

"Fine. I hope you won't mind that 15,815 galleons it will cost us."

"Thank you, Muriel, and no, I don't mind. It will worth it," Orion smirked, thinking of Hermione's reaction when he visited to surprise her. "And besides, I had thought you wouldn't let those galleons simply slip away."

Muriel let a sinister smile, "Oh, I won't, son. Don't be late on Monday when I raincheck the meetings, please."

Orion nodded, not offended by her strict attitude. She was Murial Macmillan, his late mother's great cousin, which gave her the pass by blood on top of being Orion's senior by many years.

"Oh, Lord Black?" Muriel's voice halted him in his steps. "A letter came for you."

Aside from his personal owl, Muriel received the rest of his letters and from those only relayed letters of importance.

"Who from?" Orion read that the letter was from Abraxas Malfoy. Unexpected, would be an understatement for the arrival of this letter. Malfoy requested an urgent audience.

Malfoy meant three things to Orion Black. First would be the junior brat from Slytherin who alway insisted to show his superiority in shared circles. Then, Orion would remember that that very same brat had produced a worse brat who was now married to his niece. Lastly came the occurrence that Hermione was associated with the man right now. What had she called for him, _an ally_?

It was not like Orion didn't believe what Hermione told him, but he knew it wouldn't hurt to see for himself whether their relationship had indeed ended.

Orion didn't care that Hermione had been intimate both with Evan and Abraxas (she never admitted to the latter but Orion just _knew_ ), but he had to be sure those relationships didn't resume.

So, with his own curiosities in mind, of course, Orion Black decided he could entertain a few hours with Abraxas Malfoy.

Floo-ing to Grimmauld Place, Orion then used the fireplace from there that was connected to the Malfoy Manor thanks to dear Walburga. He first floo-called whether Abraxas was waiting for him. Getting the affirmative, Orion stepped into the green flames.

"Thank you for coming on short notice," Malfoy greeted him.

Orion nodded, occupied with ridding himself of sooth from his travel.

"Let's switch to my study room for some privacy."

Two males entered the spacious study room. Orion took a seat across from Malfoy's desk while the man looked around his cabinets for… "Whiskey?"

"That would be lovely," Orion immediately said, not opposed to slightly easing up. "What did you want to discuss?"

Orion's question was left hanging for a few minutes as Abraxas got busy preparing himself a pipe. "Would you mind? And if you'd like one..."

"No, thank you," Orion replied and settled into the uneasiness that would appear to be a lengthy talk with Abraxas.

Not only because the blond man took his time preparing his pipe that Orion got that distinct impression, but it was also because how Malfoy scratched his beard occasionally, rolled his shoulders back to relax and _hummed_.

This was indeed odd.

"Yes, Black, long time no see," Abraxas smiled, finally getting seated in his chair himself.

Now level with his alert gaze, Orion smirked.

"Funny. But, I remember seeing you in my niece's wedding? You know, her wedding to your heir?"

"Oh, yes. The wedding! It's been so long ago, hasn't it? At least feels like it. I'm telling you, it's all because I met Hermione. Life is a fast ride with her. And hard."

Orion sipped from his whiskey for patience, but for one thing, he knew Abraxas' choice of words was no coincidence. The calculating and amused glint in his eyes showed he was agitating Orion on purpose.

"It pleases me to know I surpassed your grades in the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson back in our days," Abraxas added. "Or I would be _scared_ , dare I say, from the look on your face."

Orion realized how tight he was clenching his jaw. He loosened it. "You were one year below me; it was never a competition."

"Is that why Professor Merrythought always told me I was like no other student? She loved to remind the class that I even bested your grades, which I'd like to add, she used to pride only after Riddle."

The name caused Malfoy to shudder. Orion cast it away as he always did: he acted like he never heard it.

"Before that," Malfoy backtracted. "I was meaning to tell you that I know your affair with Miss Dagworth-Granger."

Orion bit back from saying anything. Any kind of reply at this moment would betray everything.

From the hostile look on Abraxas' face, Orion felt assured he was right to remain silent.

"I genuinely wonder what you aim to gain from her? Trutfully, I can't see any outcome that the young witch won't be hurt."

Oh, was Abraxas Malfoy going to lecture Orion on _upsetting_ ladies? That was big coming from him-

"And, Black, I'm sorry to tell you this but the witch is as good as a Malfoy, now."

For a second, Orion thought he heard wrong. His ears were ringing and he was seething, not a combo that helped him to think straight.

"Don't get me wrong, she is _family_. And I won't tolerate anyone who crosses _my_ family. You can't feed lies to her about a relationship, and then-"

"Then, what, _Malfoy_?" Orion spat. "Will I promise her a proper courtship, a union, and make her wait years, all the while shaming her in our circles by taking her womanhood, _knowing_ as a pureblood how it looks like to bed even a fiance before nuptials, and leave the girl without the oath? That was you, Abraxas. May I remind you that I witnessed this from the very beginning, the bastard you were? It was my last year while you were in the sixth. I even saw you and Walburga once in Hogsmeade together. The moment you stepped in the castle, when you were in the common room we shared, it was you who spit nasty insults about my cousin."

"Your wife," Malfoy corrected him and even now, seeing the smirk on his face made Orion furious.

Orion had never liked Walburga. Not even as a cousin, especially because she never believed him when he talked with her about Abraxas' true nature. Their courtship had been set up by the families, but the Malfoys had not felt remorse upon annihilating the contract eventually.

Till then, Orion had even shared the situation with his Uncle, but all he had received from Walburga had been backlash for trying to sabotage her engagement.

Only after that had Orion decided to let it be, screw the mutual friends who kept whispering to him what Abraxas' intention had been.

"Let me remind you, Black, that the situation is different now. I was able to provide Walburga with a marriage, I simply _chose_ not to."

"And that cost _me_ everything," Orion spat.

"It is not my fault your best mate, Rosier, left Walburga. You only married her after that, didn't you?" Orion didn't deem that comment with an answer so Abraxas continued, "And that too, is not on me. You married her because after both me and Rosier, well-bred bachelors and good prospects, left her, people were apprehensive to set up a contract even. The Black family had to think of a solution. And the clock had been ticking for her, she was four years our senior. You did your duty to your family."

It took everything for Orion to remain silent.

"For this situation, though," Abraxas leaned over at his desk. "You are a married man, Black. Miss Dagworth-Granger is a foreigner so her previous relationships with eligible men can be overlooked, but once her name comes out with yours, _you_ will ruin her."

Abraxas whispered, his hard stare unwavering. "Not because she won't have any prospects, but because you will be forced to leave her."

His blood had already been boiling because Abraxas had risen their old conflict, but straight out telling Orion these very concerns that were yet to cloud Orion's new relationship (not an _affair,_ for Merlin's sake, it was _not_. He didn't wish for it to be), Orion felt the despair dropping to his abdomen like a heavy lead ball. Of course, the heat of shame and anger both also climbed up to his neck. Blood was pumping right to his head at the moment, a headache quickly forming.

Orion snapped his neck the other way, the sound at least relieving him of his rage. Why had Orion come here in the first place? Even a memo to join the Dark Side would have been a saner conversation than this.

Orion meant to rise to his feet, now set to leave, "If there is nothing else."

Except he _couldn't_ rise from his seat. A pathetic and childish trick it was, what Abraxas used. His wand was unapologetically in view, as well.

"What will you do?" the blond man asked. "When that time comes? Or perhaps you are smart; and will act way before any of that can happen?"

Orion didn't take kindly to threats. It must have shown on his face as Abraxas' amusement increased. He leaned back to his chair and relaxed.

"Yes?"

"No," was the simplest answer. "And you must remember that you are not the only wizard in the room."

With that said, Orion rose from the chair and flicked his already-drawn wand. Wandless spell casting was not common among the magical blood, but among those who were capable, _Finite_ was the most common and basic nearly everyone managed. Orion only knew that. Lucky that it was handy.

In moments, Abraxas was disarmed and vines grabbed at his wrists and ankles to incarcerate him into his own chair. Orion calmly walked to his desk to place back the wand of the blonde wizard.

"It will be better for you not to worry over my courtship with Hermione," Orion said choosing every word carefully. "You might lose more than an ally."

Orion turned on his heel before letting Abraxas answer. But the man spoke still.

"You must be careful of the Dark Lord," Abraxas said. If not for that damned man Abraxas warned Orion about, he wouldn't have halted to listen to Malfoy. "We have men after us. Me and my _allies_ , as you put it." He clarified again, "That means Hermione."

Orion cursed inwardly. Sharply turning back to glance at the man, he saw Abraxas resigned and worried. "This weekend on your trip, you have to be careful Orion. There has already been an ambush, to me at least, and I assure you, anything that might happen to her, it won't be unplanned."

It was hard to swallow his pride and ask more of what Abraxas Malfoy was insinuating, so Orion didn't do it.

Orion always denied the existence of those Dark Wizards regardless of Evan's calls for him to join their _meetings_. Tom Riddle, two years his senior, had indeed been a wizard to fear back in their school days, at least to the knowledge of the Slytherin crowd.

However, this was different. Orion couldn't believe this because nobody _so close_ to him could be targeted.

The recent news that he suspected the involvement of Riddle's followers only included arson, murder or whatnot on Muggles or Muggleborns-

Her plans to open a Muggleborn preschool flashed in his mind. He recalled even before that when she defiantly asked what was wrong with being a Muggleborn. She had been a Muggleborn- before her pure ancestry was revealed: Dagworth-Granger.

Her voice resonated in his head though, " _I could very well be a Muggleborn. What is the harm at that? They are not different. They are as magical as any witch or wizard."_

Orion dismissed the thought and looked away. His head was a mess. A drink would do well. Another glass of whiskey. Or a bottle.

He left the door open in his leave.

* * *

 


End file.
